Her Darkness, His Darkness
by KitsuneToRyuu
Summary: He had wandered for years, and she had waited for years. He had stood in darkness, and she had lay in darkness. His darkness was hers, and her darkness was his. Ooc Harry/Ahmanet.
1. Prologue: Her Darkness, His Darkness

**Hello guys, took down some old stories written ages ago, but I'm back with a new one. I'm proud of how it's shaping up, but I'd appreciate any feedback or constructive criticism. This crossover does have a bit of an OoC Harry, purely because this Harry is different. He made different choices, choices that have moulded him to fit closer to Ahmanet. This will be expanded upon in later chapters. This is just testing the waters as it is, and if you enjoy it, I'll write up some more. The title is subject to change if I find something that fits better, if you have any suggestions, shoot.**

 **I don't own The Mummy or Harry Potter, they belong to people I can't be bothered to look for.**

 **Enjoy.**

* * *

 **Prologue: Her Darkness, His Darkness.**

How long has it been? 5 years? 10 years? _10 years_. He could barely begin to measure how quickly time had gone for him. He supposed it was a good thing, what with all the smiles about ' _time flying_ ' and such.

Well, in the case of this man, such things were literal. 10 years had come and gone since he removed himself from that world. 10 years since he had noticed. 10 years since he noticed the dreaded encroachment of winkles never gained a foothold on his expressions. 10 years since he noticed his body was just as spry as it was when he was 18, a fresh faced Junior Auror for the newly re-established DMLE. 10 years, he mused, since he broke her heart. 10 years had passed and he had already forgotten the face of the woman he supposedly ' _loved_ '. Yes, he pondered, time really does fly.

At 27 years of age, he seemed to be living the high life. Famous, financially stable, and a pretty bird on his arm to wow his co-workers and superiors at the Ministry Balls. He never really liked rubbing elbows with the slimy geezers that hunched about the ballroom with their fresh-faced wives and wrinkled hands, beady eyes assessing his worth over and over; the same old talks every time:

"How have you been, My Lord?"

"About the new legislation, My Lord…"

"My Lord! I thought I might ask for some _endorsement_ for this new bill…"

He hated it. He despised it. Oh, how he _loathed_ it.

But _she_ had loved it. _She_ had loved it so he had loved it for _her_. He had loved the wrinkly hands, and he had loved their beady eyes, and he had loved their vapid wives, and he had loved their slimy words and their honeyed venom.

All because he had loved _her_.

The colour of _her_ dawn-lit hair, golden and shining. The depth of _her_ eyes, so cold in their arctic resemblance, but so warm at their depths, so inviting. The curve of _her_ waist in his arm, smooth and always within reach. The scent of sweet apple, fragrant enough to smell, not enough to irritate. The tenor of _her_ voice, like velvet, so smooth in his ears, lulling him to _her_ like a mouse to a piper. The warmth of _her_ body against his, like a beacon, comforting him. The heat of _her_ passionate embrace, igniting him, setting his hunger for _her_ like a starving dragon.

But he couldn't remember anything else. Not the shade of her skin, not the curve of her jaw, not the slope of her nose, or the height of her cheeks. Not the height that she stood, not the neck that he had lavished. Not the books she loved, not the music she played, not the foods she craved, not the shows she devoured, not the places she favoured, not the colour she loosened into his flat.

He just couldn't remember.

Was it him? Did he forget due to his unwilling nature to remember her? Was it time? Did it tarnish her from his memories? Was it her? Did she do something to make him forget her?

Whose fault was it? Whose?

Did he even want to remember? Did he want to remember the stolen kisses in the castle he called home? Did he want to remember the nights where their passion was hotter than the fire by their side? Did he want to remember her?

"No," he chuffed, lifting a hand to secure the scarf covering his lower face.

What reason was there to remember _her_? _She_ didn't matter anymore. None of them mattered. He was alone.

But that was how it had to be.

He had left. Left it all behind and travelled. There was nary a place he hadn't visited in his thirst for an escape, for books to distract his fracturing mind, for practices that would soothe his wounded soul, for magic that would balance his tearing body.

After all these years he had changed. His shiny, black hair was now jet, devoid of light. His small, skinny frame had lengthened, thickened. His skin was paler than pale, stressed and tired. His joy had become a sordid silence, a disquieting, unnerving stretch where time became inconsequential. He had become who he was not, and the one thing that he had, had become the only one thing he has left. His mother's eyes.

His _mother's_ eyes. He had fought the urge to scoff, but was unsuccessful. Ah, Snape, you bloody great prune, bet you hate _that_ don't you? The one reminder he had left wasn't even his, they were his _mother's_.

He had been tempted, once, between Gringott's tomb raids, to talk to her. To summon up her shade and ask her. Ask her why, ask her how, ask her when, but he didn't. She deserved to rest. She earned it. Snape hadn't though. He gained a fluttering of something he might have felt a long time ago when he summoned the dour man from beyond the veil to antagonize him, relentlessly. Between that, scouring the globe for its hidden secrets and societies, and learning anything and everything he could get his hands on, he figured he was content enough. He still got a jolt of adrenaline when exploring the hidden world for its treasures and stories. It was all he had to grasp at who he used to be. All he had to ignore the spectre fading away beside him.

And that was what had brought him here.

Iraq.

* * *

Walking into the town, the man who applied a glamour to blend in with the locals, removing his scarf and seamlessly blending in with the tide of the crowd. His pipe slowly letting smoke escape into the hazy, heated air. Nothing a quick cooling charm couldn't fix though. He trailed though the streets, examining some of the wares amongst the stalls, throwing a few counterfeit Dinars towards merchants when a fabric or item caught his fancy. They would never be able to tell they were conjured, he reasoned, slipping his purchases into his bag, which littered with an outstanding plethora of expansion enchantments and charms not noticeable by its rather inconspicuous appearance, as he continued his solitary trudge down the market place. He ignored the tittering and knowing looks women threw him with good grace as he purchased some things with rather feminine qualities. He just thought they looked nice, but he plastered a fake, embarrassed smile upon his lips, playing along with their comments and suggestions. The man continued this pattern for a good while until he reached the centre of the marketplace, and his body tingled. He pulled in a breath with a small, small smile as he reached his senses downwards and revelled in the silky, heady presence of _old magick_. He'd found something. The man, though years and years of practice, added layer, after thin layer of a disillusionment charm upon himself, until he was invisible and avoided by the small throngs of people and gunmen who prowled the streets. With an emotionless smirk, the man pulled himself though the hardened earth, down lower and lower until his sandaled feet rested upon ancient, engraved stone. He basked in the enriched, magical essence excluding from the very walls of the chamber. He opened his flinty eyes and, casting some everlasting flames, stared about the anti-chamber, admiring the Egyptian hieroglyphs patterning the walls and the sturdy, chiselled pillars holding up the roof of the room. The walls were of particular interest, and the man moved over to read them, delighting in the new, unknown knowledge he found himself privy to.

' _Here, sealed and entombed for eternity, lies an evil and blight upon the greatness of Egypt. And here, shall the knowledge of this evil be hidden, for its corruption decays and taints its once great land, and will no longer, forever more. Absolutely fascinating._ ' The man read and devoured, until the dripping of liquid drew him from his indulgence. He looked to the ground to spot tiny rivulets of shiny liquid sliding into small holes drilled into the rock floor. Looking up to the ceiling of the chamber, he observed, eagerly, as the silver droplets converged and fell to the ground, following their predecessors down to their unseen path. The green eyed man looked across the room, spotting more and more holes until the chamber descended into darkness. Moving slowly, his inquisitive, green tinted scrutiny revealed steps after steps, decorated with meticulously carved aqueducts carrying their beautifully toxic cargo deeper into the depths of what he assumed to be a sealed temple. The man waved his hand and conjured an object of his creation, creatively dubbed a ' _following flame_ ' which danced about behind him as he walked down the carved, sandstone steps.

Eventually, the man reached the bottom, and scattered the loyal flame about the room as he stepped of the last step, his glamour fading immediately.

' _Must be a ward, however primitive. Smart, I suppose, but what for?_ '

Pulling himself from his musings, thoroughly intrigued, and excited, the black haired man stared.

Then stared some more.

Facing inwards? A seal, so he was right? But what were those beams for? What was the mechanism holding under that pool of mercury? An evil spirit? It was a _**prison**_ _…_

But… there was nothing there. He couldn't feel anything. What was it? He had to know! He needed to know! What was so dangerous, it had to be carted miles from the base of ancient Egypt, all the way to ancient Mesopotamia, to hide away? What could be that dangerous? Was it knowledge? Was it a magical creature? _What was it_?

The black haired man stared at the seal guarding the circumference of the toxic pool once more. Connecting its lines, calculating their use. They needed to go. They were in his way. This was something fascinating, something he needed to see with his own, emerald eyes!

An overpowered severing charm tore the seal apart, and he eagerly followed the set of chain reactions his action made as the beams creaked and groaned, their pressure released. Slowly, a shape emerged from the pool, streaks of silver liquid running down its length, leaving the stone of the sarcophagus with an almost golden glow in the light of the flames. The weight at the end of the beams dropped to the ground, its cargo freed from its deadly prison, but he barely noticed, he was transfixed. The sarcophagus was not beautiful or glorious, it was nigh horrifying, a screaming faces chiselled into harsh stone, but that suited the jet haired man just fine, he didn't care about the glorification of it. He cared about the writing upon its body, the secrets held within.

 _And then, there was the sun. It was warm and beautiful, the sand was gold and stretched across the horizon like a sea, meeting the azure sky, pure and clean in its beauty. The sand flowed in nonsensical patterns shaped by the cool breeze, it was hypnotic. Then there was a woman. A woman in white silks and golden finery, her skin bronzed and kissed by the sun. She was shaped by the gods for beauty, her figure was perfection, and her gait was confident, seductive, as she moved closer. Her face was obscured, but it was teasing with small glimpses. Plump, painted red lips, arched eyebrows and deep, chocolate eyes accentuated by long, curled eyelashes. Waves of dark, beautiful hair. This was a seductress, a woman who tempted. She was closer now, a hand with long, thin fingers caressed the chin of a man with jet hair and emerald eyes, and their blue tips dancing along the jaw of a man form a world of magic and secrets, of war and terror._

" _ **You have freed me…"**_ _She spoke, to a man, whose name was once Harry, "_ _ **Se'tepai…**_ _"_

 _Her face moved closer as her mouth wrapped about every beautiful syllable that left her lips in almost a whisper. Her dark eyes closing at an almost torturous pace, as her lips approached the man once called_ Harry Potter _._

 _There was no words to accurately describe the sensuous feel of her lips, or the feeling of her hands, grazing against the body of the jet-haired-green-eyed man once named_ Harry Potter _she had entranced._

 _Because all he could feel was an inferno. All he could see was_ _ **her**_ _radiance. All he could touch was_ _ **her**_ _glory. All he could smell was the sun kissed sand and the incense that flowed about_ _ **her**_ _like a veil. All he could hear was_ _ **her**_ _slight breathing, the billowing of_ _ **her**_ _gown in the breeze. All he could taste was_ _ **her**_ _, the spice and honey that erupted upon his palate._

 _The kiss seemed to last an eternity, a blissful moment in forever for the sun kissed woman and the pale man, but when their lips parted and he stared into the depths of her chocolate eyes, the man realised something._

He isn't the man who once was _Harry Potter_.

This man, who can feel burning in his veins and the pounding of his heart in his ears…

He was _Harry Potter_ , but not quite. It was almost like a mould that had been half filled against another, equally as filled. Still a bit remained, but never a whole. But together with the other, something was different.

A memory tingled in his head, an official document found in the depths of his vault and quickly forgotten.

 **Harold**. His name was Harold Potter.

-break woot-

The moment in forever was broken by a loud explosion, and the sound of crumbling earth. Harold dismissed the flames in the anti-chamber and his following flames, and conjured up a couple of oil lamps, spreading them across the room.

He could feel _her_ watching him, feeling him, as he pulled the sarcophagus away from the pool and lay it gently down next to him, reading the inscriptions.

"The daughter of the Pharaoh Seti… _Ahmanet_ …" The summer breeze wasted across his face, ruffling his hair playfully. The gaze became more intense, but he didn't mind, "a beautiful name…"

He could almost hear _her_ pleased purr, low and laced with honey and milk, setting a warmth tingling in the black haired wizard's stomach.

"Oh my _god_."

Harold spun around, eyes glinting as he looked up towards the voice. Three interlopers had interrupted them. His movement had seemed to catch their attention, as the three faced him, with almost comically wide expressions.

"What are you doing down here?" The blonde woman asked as she rushed down the steps at a careful pace, an infuriated expression on her face.

"What am I doing down here? A better question would be what are _you_ doing down here?" Harold said, standing up and wiping his clothes of dust, feeling distinctly disgruntled at the trios interruption.

The blonde straightened indignantly, "I'm _Dr_ Jenny Halsey, performing a preliminary investigation of an Egyptian tomb located in the Persian gulf of Iraq. These two, well…"

The stockier, brunette man put a hand on her shoulder with a cocky grin, "Nick Morton and Chris Vail, experts in the… _liberation_ of ancient artefacts."

" _Thieves_ ," Jenny remarked with a hiss, brushing his hand off her shoulder with a disgusted sneer.

Harold quirked an eyebrow, " _thieves?_ I'm doubting your credentials ' _Dr Jennifer Halsley'_ ," he mocked, rubbing his hand on the stone lid of the sarcophagus, she huffed at his purposeful mistake, " _this_ is my find, and my sarcophagus, and I've already done an ' _investigation_ ' so I suggest, you take your thieving associates, take your fancy recorder, and _bugger off._ This is **mine**."

He knocked on the top of the stone for emphasis, drawing their attention, Jenny moved closer to inspect it, but the jet haired man moved in the way.

"Ah, ah, ah, _Dr_ this is mine. Property of Harold Potter, no touching."

Her eyes widened, "… _Potter?"_

His lip quirked, "oh? Heard of me have you? Good, I'd hate to think all my hard work has gone to waste."

"Who?" Nick asked, caught between staring at him or Jenny.

Chris was just poking rocks.

" **Archduke** Harry Potter," she stated, taking in a shaky breath, "he's famous in England for secret services to Her Majesty the Queen, and his famous explorations into ancient tombs and temples long lost or dangerous."

Harold hummed delightfully, "I go by my birth name of _Harold_ , as of recently. Nice to know you're not as much as a dunderhead as you seem, dropping airstrikes and bringing thieves into valuable… _ **tombs**_!"

The last was enunciated with a large rock thrown at Nick's hand, which was absently reaching for a dusty golden pectoral. Jenny threw the man an acidic glare, before re-focusing on Harold.

"How did you even get down here?" She asked suspiciously, narrowing her fine brows at him.

"A man like myself has to have secrets," he smirked, punctuating his words with a minor confounding charm, leading to the blonde to accept his words.

[ _Lima 2-6 come in…_ ]

"I… see…" She opened her mouth to continue, but spun at the sound of Chris' scream of abject terror.

The man was being _covered_ by camel spiders. Droves and droves of them escaped from the rocks like dammed water, rushing towards the group and covering their feet. Nick let out a hurried yelp as he shot at them wildly, Jenny flailing amidst the rather vicious ones that pinched at her ankles and swarmed about her.

Amidst the chaos, Harold simply stood, a large birth afforded by the spiders allowed him to enjoy the torment leashed against the interlopers to his exploration.

The spiders began to flee at the gunfire, and Harold stood, amused at Chris' panicked shouts and protests to staying.

Jenny quickly spun around to him after telling Nick to get a team to bring the sarcophagus up, "Harry, _please_ , we need to leave, come with us. If you're bringing it back to England, we have someone to lift it."

"Well, I suppose that may be a good idea…" The Wizard rifled around his pocket, pulling out a battered charm, "my spider repellent has run out." He grinned.

He'd need help if he was going to get this out the muggle way, so there was no harm in playing along, _for now_.

And he had a plausible excuse of why the spiders avoided him as well. A nifty little charm.

As armoured men descended into the chamber and roped up the sarcophagus to a helicopter, Harold sat upon it, rubbing a thumb upon the casket fondly, and he whistled a jaunty tune from around the mouthpiece of his pipe. Basking in the warmth of the sun and the scent of incense.

After all didn't need to tell them the charm was a fake conjuration.

* * *

 **So that's the prologue, this fic's mainly going to explore Ahmanet's character and Harry's, but also what would happen if her chosen didn't resist her. If her chosen actually had a unique strength.**

 **Suggestions are welcome, and flames make me laugh before blocking you, so have fun with that.**

 **Thanks for reading.**

 _ **Kitsune.**_


	2. Chapter 1

**Hey guys, new chapter here. I was honestly blown away by all the likes and favourites, so I wanted to upload again as soon as possible, you guys and gals rock. I can't reply to all of them, as I'm sure you guys want to get on with it and read the story, so I'm putting my thanks at the bottom of this chapter.**

 _ **I do want your opinion on some things though:**_

 **I was thinking of Harry's** _ **familiar**_ **being a Raven? Like a magical breed though? What do you think?**

 **Also, I definitely want Harry's** _ **animagus**_ **form to be some kind of snake, as they have traditionally symbolised life and rebirth, and also wisdom. But I'm caught between two kinds of snakes: A Titanoboa (but they're extinct you say? Well he is magical and they are badass) or an Egyptian cobra, which have traditionally been the protectors of Egyptian Pharaohs through the ages. If you guys have any suggestions though, feel free to let me know, I may like your idea better than my own, ha-ha.**

 **I don't own HP or the Mummy, like I said before.**

 **Enjoy**

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

The wind rustled his dark hair as he appreciated the summer breeze with closed eyes while sat upon the 5,000 year old sarcophagus- which was spinning rather lethargically, not that he minded of course (years of Quidditch practice would do that to you)- smiling at the cawing of the crow infected winds, which were currently freaking out the muggles. One of the black birds landed upon his shoulder warbling at him curiously. He reached out a single, pale finger to rub the soft down cresting the bird's chest, he crooned to it softly, a crooked smile on his lips. It seemed rather pleased at his attention, which reminded him of his own familiar. It really liked to wander off on its own. He supposed that was fine, after all, Alexandria was a feisty thing. Harold was drawn from his musings when the crow upon his shoulder shrieked with an almost toxic amount of malevolence, staring straight up at the helicopter in front of him.

He looked up to see the blonde woman staring at him worriedly, her eyebrows creased with some emotion he couldn't decipher. Fear? Stress? He waved the thought away and removed his pipe from his mouth, sending her a cheeky wave with an infuriating, crooked grin on his face. She bit her lip and turned away as the murder of crows screeched again, a few flying fast past the opening she had looked out of, almost as if to pierce her skull with their beaks. Hmm. Well, it wasn't as if he cared if they shredded her to bits or not. She was a muggle, after all.

' _Filthy_ _ **FREAK**_ _!_ '

He frowned, shaking his head in mild agitation and rubbing the casket under him for reassurance. Filthy muggles, skittering about like ants next to their big aeroplane.

He blinked, it seemed they had arrived at the drop off point.

As he was lowered closed to the ground, he jumped off the sarcophagus, not so accidentally sending the men underneath barrelling out of the way when the dislodged crow flew through them, disgruntled.

He reached up as the sarcophagus was lowered, holding it so it landed gently. Some of the soldiers tried to move him out of the way, but the glare he sent them was positively murderous in its intentions, so he was allowed to help load his precious find onto the aircraft as the approaching sandstorm moved to engulf them. He hissed out insults to the men who handled his cargo anything less than carefully, taking a great deal of sadistic satisfaction in them backing off warily.

Ignoring the Sgt's aggravated shouting at sitting down, he fastened the last of the hooks around the sarcophagus before moving to the seat directly adjacent to it, his eyes never straying far, regardless of Jenny's suspicious gaze.

"You're welcome, you know," Nick said to Jenny, unabashedly staring at her midriff as she secured her bags in the holding space when the plane had stabilized after take-off.

Harold was amused by the very violent aura the woman had when she hissed, "what?" In reply.

"For finding your… whatever it is," he waved absently towards the sarcophagus.

"It's _mine_."

Nick swallowed audibly at the expression on the wizard's face, before returning his gaze to Jenny, who proceeded to unload an impressive amount of condensed vitriol at the man. It was something Harold found extremely amusing. Watching a man so self-assured looking like he wanted the ground to rise up and swallow him whole as the blonde ripped into him with such viciousness and tenacity that it wouldn't be remiss to belong to a starved, agitated manticore. This was almost as entertaining as harassing the dungeon bat. When Jenny told him this was her life's work and other such nonsense, the green eyed man once again chimed in to say it was his, purely to agitate the blonde spitfire more. Jenny huffed at Nick before moving over to examine the sarcophagus, shifting nervously and chafing slightly under Harold's laser like gaze.

* * *

 _He was consumed by the sun once more, watching the woman with sun kissed skin and dark eyes beat a man twice her size in what he assumed to be a training exercise. Her gaze caught his and once more he was captivated, her small body heaving in breaths that highlighted the rivulets of sweat escaping into the folds of her robe, just above her chest, hiding them form his heated stare. Her plump, red lips curled into a seductive smile, her hand beckoning him closer. He closed his eyes in bliss as he moved forwards, the scent of incense invading his every sense._

 _She was pressed against another man, his olive skin glinting from sweat and fire. He was the man she had beaten before, a weak man unworthy of her, but she hovered over him, chaotic runes decorating her naked upper body._

" _ **God of Death, powerful Set…**_ _" She arched her body upwards, lifting a wicked, jagged dagger above her head almost reverently. The light of the oil fuelled flames flickered, silhouetting her hypnotic, naked body against the fabric hanging in her bedchambers, her breasts lifting as she pulled in another breath, her skin golden in the firelight._

 _Then he was under her, his hands tracing the curves of her body, traveling up tan skin greedily, like a parched man approaching an oasis in the middle of a harsh desert. He could see all of her, and drank in the sight greedily, tracing nonsensical patterns on the flesh of her bare stomach, trying to ignore the criminally thin fabric preventing them from joining fully._

 _He hated it worse than he hated Voldemort, and that was a lot._

 _Her head mover forwards and her eyes caught his once more, no longer dark pools of the forbidden, but the golden-amber of burnished gold, shining with heat and anticipation, brighter than any amount of gold in his vaults._

" _I welcome you into this mortal body…"_

 _Her gaze softened, determination present, but a longing so deep it was painful. He basked in the gaze as it grew possessive, eating his image up with undisguised greed._

 _And the blade fell._

* * *

Harold jerked to consciousness as the Sgt let out a pained yelp, a knife plunged into his chest where the camo of his uniform was slowly turning a reddish-brown. Unprepared for the harsh coppery smell of spilt lifeblood, he froze.

 _Sickening yellow eyes stared down at him, his hip shredded and dripping with a tangy, metallic scent._

' _Why do you not die before my gaze, tiny speaker?'_

 _Pain. Pai_ _ **nP**_ _AinpaI_ _ **N**_ _. PAINPAIN_ _ **PAIN**_ _._

 _ **IT BURNS**_ _._

Harold jerked, his pupils dilating. He absently registered someone's shouts about shooting and pressurized aircrafts before three loud bangs echoed out, tunnelling into his ears as his spectre chuckled mirthlessly.

 _ **BANG.**_

 _His body registered the blunt force of colliding with a wall when another meaty fist smacked into his jaw._

" _You will not bring your_ _ **FREAKISHNESS**_ _into my home, boy!"_

 _Again, and again, and again. Fist after fist after fist._

 _ **BREAKING**_

 _Push it down._

 _ **BLEEDING**_

 _Don't_ _think about it._

 _ **DYING**_

 _Stop feeling._

 _ **BETRAYAL**_

 _Hide it._

 _It hurt. IT HURT. IT HURT ITHURT ITHU_ _ **RTITHURTITHURT**_ _ **ITHURT!**_

" _That'll show you, eh?_ _ **Freak**_ _?" A sticky wetness collided with his face, and then a chuckle._

 _Laughter, the laughter of a pig._

 _The laughter of a_ filthy _,_ **disgusting** _,_ _ **muggle**_ _._

 _Then he screamed, an agonising, wet shriek that clawed out of his mouth, a burning emotion bubbling in his gut like bubbling magma._

 _ **FIRE.**_

 _Then there were screams._

 _But it wasn't_ _ **him**_ _._

 _And he smiled through the tears, and he_ _ **laughed**_ _._

His eyes refocused when the scent of burning jasmine and the ghost of a soft hand caressed his cheek, harried emeralds staring down at the bleeding, decomposing, chalky corpse of Chris Vail.

" _Well_ ," he drawled, pulling the attention of the four, rather terrified occupants of the plane, himself excluded, "that looks rather eventful."

The plane rumbled ominously, bobbing and misplacing the five, who looked about in a panic, only to notice thick smoke billowing from one of the plane engines.

"Ah, I spoke too soon."

As the detached observer he was, Harold watched as Jenny and Nick scrambles into the pilot's deck with urgency, rolling his eyes as screams and gurgling reached his ears. Stinking, half crushed crows flew out of the pilot's door and rolled about on deck as Jenny and Nick fell out of the pilot's cabin when another engine blew and took half the wing on the left side of the plane. The jet haired man smiled serenely as the group began to float about the room, hitting the walls like agitated lemurs. He pushed a foot out against the wall absently before he collided, floating slowly to the other side of the plane as Nick strapped Jenny into a parachute with trembling hands and a sweaty face.

With a jarring screech, the metal plating of the room ripped itself from the craft, flying off, and taking the two, unnamed grunts with it, screaming included. He sniffed and braced himself against the side of the cabin, watching as Nick shoved Jenny out of the aircraft.

"Fascinating!" He yelled over the rumbling of the aeroplane, Nick stared at him, bemused.

He sighed, "I never knew muggles of your ilk had such a _kind heart_."

Harold's voice was dripping with undisguised sarcasm as he held a hand over his heart, swooning. Nick sent him a pissed off glare, before pulling another parachute from the cargo holder. Harold hummed, he hadn't noticed that. Nick quickly pulled it on and shuffled towards the gaping hole in the once enclosed space. The black haired man watched silently as he drew closer to the edge before piping up.

"You're making a _terrible_ mistake."

Nick flipped his finger at him, " _fuck_ you man!"

Harry shrugged, "suit yourself, and you can't say I didn't try to warn you."

Nick moved to swing himself from out of the plane, but he noticed a moment to late his parachute line was caught on an outward shard of twisted metal, engaging his parachute and slamming him into the side of the plane with a sickening crunch. The line gave free, and Harold watched as Nick's limp, lightly bloodied body rocketed off, his leg waving about in the wind before the thin strips of flesh gave up, his lower shin and mangled foot careening off of his body.

The emerald eyed man sighed and rolled his shoulders, moving over to the previously occupied space with little resistance due to some generously piled sticking charms upon his feet. Sending a forlorn look towards the casket, Harold muttered a quick promise of return, before casting a banishment charm at his feet, just as the vehicle was about to crash, the end result sending him flying out onto the rich grassy earth of his native country with a speedy roll.

He noticed he was maybe moving a tad too fast a moment before he hit his head against a tree and blacked out.

* * *

When he came to, the pale man noticed he was in a hospital room, the scent of bleach and disinfectant stinging his nostrils and bringing up a few rather unpleasant memories.

 _The frying pan hit his head with a loud gong, and his head spun, red dripping into his eyes, invading his nose with its harsh scent as the grating screech of Petunia Dursley grinded its way into his skull._

He snorted quietly, applying a healing spell to his stinging head as he shuffled out of the crisp, white sheets of the hospital bed, quickly swiping up his clothes and his, thankfully unperturbed, bag before shucking the distasteful hospital gown and putting his own clothes on, letting out a sound of appeasement as his ass crack was once again hidden from the world. The hospital door opened and he ignored the blithering of the muggle nurse as he strode past her and out of the room. Immediately, the blonde head of the rather annoying Jennifer Halsey drew his attention, she looked up and caught his eyes with her puffy blue ones.

 _Icy blues trailed down his jawline; thin, pale fingers caressing his throat as she opened herself to him, pink lips letting out a small gasp of pleasure as they became infinitely closer._

'Great, another reason to ignore the annoying one,' Jennifer hurried closer to him, 'too late.'

"You're awake! H- _how_?" She spluttered, gripping his shoulders in desperation.

He shrugged her hands off of him, feeling slightly dirtied as a low growl echoed out from somewhere in the back of his mind, "Yes, fascinating as to how any human can pull themselves from a nice nap, surely death would be easier to do that actually just opening your bloody eyes," he murmured, dusting off his shoulders, "though I suppose a little bit more of a rest would not be remiss, after your boyfriend left me to the dogs with an eloquent ' _fuck you_ '," Harold mocked with a nasally voice, Jennifer's eyes widening.

"He what? W-wait, no- I mean, he isn't my boyfriend!" She shouted and he tittered.

"Yes, I suppose _15 seconds_ isn't really boyfriend material," he sent her a condescending smile as a flush crept up her shoulders. Very amusing.

"How are you even alive?"

"Well dear, if the man who murdered my parents couldn't off me when I was a helpless babe, I doubt a simple plane crash could, although, it may speak miles about his bumbling ineptitude. Too fond of megalomaniacal speeches on the edge of victory," Harold shook his head. It was such a _satisfying_ kill.

"What?" The blonde gaped.

"I applied enough counterforce as the plane was about to crash, that I secured safety with only a few minor injuries," the tall man supplied, looking down at the blonde with heavily veiled distain.

"Oh…"

"How eloquent. Where are we?"

Jenny shook her head, dragging herself from her thoughts, supposedly, "Ah, um, Just near Surrey, in Lond-"

"London, yes, yes, I know where _bloody Surrey_ is. I have a flat near here anyway. I'm getting changed and pouring myself a stiff drink."

"What?"

"Goodbye my dear!"

* * *

Harold let out a satisfied sigh, popping his back as he downed another glass of Firewhiskey, savouring the burn as the liquor slid down his throat. It was a lovely vintage, a 1650 limited, caramel distilled, rich vintage, purchased by his great, great, great grandfather Pycellius Potter. He shrugged on his blue button up, humming along to Parvati Patils break out single ' _Steamy Desert Sands_ ' on the wizarding wireless. It was a bit too pop-like than his usual song lists, but it was rather good. He remembered Padma chatting to him about her sister trying to break into the WMB, as in Wizarding Musical Broadcast, with covers of popular muggle songs a good few years back. It seemed she's plucked up the courage to drop an original EP onto the wire, and it was surprisingly well put together. He tapped his foot a couple of times to the beat before turning to pick up the vintage once more to pour another drink.

"Hey Harry!"

"Merlin's sweaty left testicle!" Harry startled, staring at Chris' blue skinned, black veined face, "you scared the shit out of me, Vail," He commented idly, pouring himself a drink to calm his heartbeat, he looked up to Chris' grinning face, "you want a glass?"

"I'm incorporeal, Harry, I can't hold a glass," Chris deadpanned, looking a tiny bit disappointed.

"Sucks ass to be you, my decomposing never-friend," the pale man said cheerfully, if a bit vindictively as he sipped his drink, "my name is Harold, by the way."

"Of course, Harry."

The jean clad man sniffed, rubbing his nails on his shirt, channelling his inner Pansy, "well, if you aren't here to help paint my nails, I think you should leave," he levelled a disgusted sneer at the shade, "death _so_ isn't your colour."

He should get a Grammy for that performance.

"Dude, she's waiting for you. If you don't hurry your ass up, death's going to be a bad colour on _you too_ ," Chris snarked.

"Touché, dead man, Death is _always_ my colour."

"She always gets what she wants Harry. She wants you," a possessive, invisible hand dragged up and across his shoulder, incense wafting through his apartment.

"Are you-"

"Yes, I'm talking 'bout her, soy mocha latte with the runes and shit."

"And her name is… Ahmanet? _She's real?_ Not just my fucked up imagination?"

"Duh, bro, you'd have to be fucked to think this shit all on your own," Chris said, staring with a frown as Harry necked another glass of Firewhiskey before capping it and setting it on the shelf, next to other, similarly assorted bottles. Flashes of a smouldering wreckage, and debilitated church complete with a worn graveyard flickered through his mind.

"Well Vail, let's go on an adventure," He stated, pulling on his old, leather jacket, with MARAUDER stitched meticulously onto the back in bronze finery. He picked up the keys to his godfather's bike, inherited shortly after his death, before slipping on his shoes.

He turns to speak to Vail, but the shade had disappeared, he closed his mouth with an audible click of his jaw, before shouldering his bag and swinging the front door to his flat open, revealing a shocked Jennifer about to knock.

"Are you _stalking me_?"

"What? No, I mean, I needed to check up on you, bad injury and all…" She chuckled nervously.

"Whatever, I'm going somewhere," he gently nudged her away from his door before stepping out and locking it, activating the wards.

"Where are you going?" She asked, hurrying after him as he descended the steps of the apartment building.

"None of your business," Harry said blandly.

"You're going to the crash site aren't you?"

"How's your boyfriend doing?"

"He's in critical condition-hey! Don't change the subject!"

"What subject?" Harry retorted petulantly as they approached his motorbike.

"I'm coming with you."

"I'm going to a bar to get drunk."

"On a motorbike? There's a bar 20 meters from here?" Jenny stated in a flat tone, pointing to a rather rowdy looking, richly lit bar across the street.

"The whiskey is shit there," the leather clad wizard straddled his motorbike, turning on the ignition, the engine letting loose a powerful rumble and he smiled indulgently, before he frowned, and extra weight plopping onto the bike behind him, "What are you doing?"

"I'm coming with you," The blonde stated as if it was the most obvious thin in the world.

"No you aren't."

"Yes, I am."

"No _you aren't."_

"Yes, _I am_."

"No _you aren't_."

"Yes, _I am_."

"I, do not like you," Harry said with a deliberate slowness, as the woman was obviously too stupid to recognise he was a step away from revving the motorbike, and drifting her head into the path of a lamp post.

"Great, let's go," the blonde said, wrapping her arms around his waist.

"This is an inhumane torture."

"Get moving Harry."

The black haired man sighed, starting the motorbike and pulling out onto the road.

"It's Harold, actually."

"Drive, Harry."

* * *

She felt so _weak_. So fragile.

But when she had heard movement, felt the chains that had been her shackles for so long, finally pulling her up, she had felt _**strength**_. She heard the liquid metal gliding off her prison as it emerged from the pool. She had felt when it had drained from the inside of her prison, allowing her awareness to spread out once more.

It was an empowering experience, with her gifts, she had seen outside her deathbed, and had seen a man.

And he was dark.

 _ **And he was beautiful**_.

His eyes were gemstones in the shimmering Nile, and is skin was pale like her finest silks. His hair was dark, devoid of life, and his face…

His face was hypnotizing. His sharp features cut her, and his stubble burned something in her.

He was tall, and thin, but not unhealthy.

But his face, it shined with slivers of excitement and joy.

Joy.

Joy directed at _her_.

She wanted him, badly, and what she wants, she gets. So she reached out to him, and showed him her. She showed him her sun, and her sand. She teased him with glances as she sauntered to him, and he came alive under her gaze. His weary figure straightened, his gemstone eyes brightened, his lips curled, and he became an indomitable figure of strength. He wanted her. She caressed him, and he bowed to her touch.

He wanted her. She wanted him. She bound his soul willingly. He was _hers_.

" **You have freed me…** " She spoke, in a voice of honey and milk, " _ **My**_ **Chosen…** " Then, she had gifted him with her lips, revelling in the feel of him against her. His hardness against her body, as if drawing her strength. His arms had wound to cradle her against him, almost desperately, and she had indulged in him. She had pulled away from him after, and as he stared into her eyes, she saw pieces fit together inside of him, and his gaze became resolute, his hands clenching her hips gently. She had smiled at him then, with promises and seduction, then he was _ripped_ from her.

She had twitched from the pain, recovering to him lowering her prison gently by him, reading the inscriptions upon her stone body and speaking her name with reverence. She was pleased, and showed him when he complemented her.

The interruption to a tender moment between her and her chosen sent her into a blackout rage, only coming too when her coffin split open from impact. She had lost control of herself in anger. Her tender body ached from the fall, and she curled, ignoring the pain of her twisted, mummified body as the strange chattering of this age's men drew her attention.

Controlling the curses and powers, carved into her skin as a focus, Ahmanet pulled the minds of her remaining crows to distract the men. She needed a distraction to catch them unaware with this weak body. The first man wandered over and she watched as he marvelled at her prison, before moving over to her.

"What the _hell?_ "

A crow cawed and as he turned, she knew this was her moment. Like a viper, she snapped her brittle neck around and curled her clawed finger around his head, bringing his face to hers with a startled yelp. Her body creaked and restored as she pulled his life force into her body, replacing his with her curse, before dropping his body and moving quickly out of the way. The other man's sun beam missed her, but only just, and she pounced after he fell back with a horrified yelp, repeating the process. With only two, he body was not yet ready, 3 more would be the minimum to get her into a workable state. Ahmanet gurgled, her vocal chords to decayed to do much else as she moved from the shelter of her landing, her eyes honing on the bricked building a league or so ahead. That was where she would find her dagger, then, she would gift her chosen, and he would awaken as a king, and she would be his queen.

She conjured up the shade of the one she recently cursed, and sent him to retrieve her chosen. She was sure a familiar face would set him more at ease with the idea of meeting her. He had been enraptured by her, but a small part of him was still in disbelief. In sending this shade to him, she hoped it would calm him, and make him believe in her, then join her. She didn't want to scare him away.

* * *

 **There we are! All done! I hope everyone enjoyed the Ahmanet POV, It was a bit tricky to write, but if you have any suggestions, I'll do some alterations. I want to thank all the people who Favorited and followed both this story and me, even if it was in silence, it still showed how much you appreciated my work, and I wanted to thank you for that. I can't reply to you, but I can reply to and thank all of the people who have reviewed the story:**

 _ **To WannaFirewhiskey:**_ **Thank you for the review, and I hope this chapter meets your expectations. Your review was the first one, and it means a lot.**

 _ **To**_ _ **edboy4926:**_ **Thank you for your review, and I hope this chapter is just as interesting.**

 _ **To Guest 1:**_ **Thank you for the review and your complement, I hope the second chapter is to your liking too.**

 _ **To Anon:**_ **Thank you, you wink wonk.**

 _ **To Halariel:**_ **Thank you for the review, I really would suggest watching the movie soon, although Tom Cruise is basically playing Tom Cruise again, Sofia Boutella is a magnificent actress, and makes up for everyone else. You have asked, and I have delivered. Additionally, if there are any suggestions and valid reasons to bash, I might do that, but this Harry has had a very different youth, so he may not even interact with some characters.**

 _ **To Guest 2:**_ **Thank you for your review, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!**

 _ **To Dark Grey Lady:**_ **Thank you for your review, I'm glad it is a good reason to be alive** **the wait is no longer! Well, until you close this page, Haha!**

 _ **To IPROI:**_ **Thank you for your review, it means a lot that you've done this very little, and I'm honoured, and glad I could deliver something you've been wanting.**

 _ **To Guest 3:**_ **Thank you for your review, I am glad you noticed me fitting everything in, half the time I'm writing this goes into research, so forgive me if I miss anything in a haste to write. The Mummy 2017 exists in the same world as Harry Potter, and this is why I have made it the cause for the Prodigium to exist, they kind of have puffed themselves up after catching a few strays nobody cares about. But we will be seeing some of the HP characters in the story, mostly later on in the story, but they will be making some appearances and Cameos in the time being.**

 **As I said before, any comments, constructive criticism is welcomed. Flames with be laughed at, summarily ignored and blocked, and I'm always up for suggestions.**

 **Thank you for reading,**

 _ **Kitsune.**_


	3. Chapter 2

_**Hey guys, new update here, sorry it took a bit longer, but a reviewer mentioned a couple of mistakes I made in haste, and I figured spending a little extra time to make sure the chapter was perfect would be a lot better than pumping out substandard chapters for you. There was a lot of split opinions on the animagus form, so I've decided to do a little something that should hopefully appease both sides of the spectrum. Finally, Harold's familiar is now confirmed to be a raven, and I think she'll either show up in the next chapter, or the one directly after it. I've laid off on Harry's backstory a bit in this chapter, but it will be getting a further exploration. If there is anything you guys want to suggest or ask about, please go ahead and let me know. As usual, I'll be answering all reviews at the end of the chapter. Enjoy!**_

 _ **Any mistakes are my own and I apologise.**_

 _ **I don't own HP or The Mummy 2017 they belong to people I still can't be assed to look up.**_

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

"Do you even know where we're going?"

Harold reigned in the urge to shove the blonde off his bike for the umpteenth time, "I used to live in Surrey, Jennifer, I know damn fucking well where that bloody Abbey is," the tall man flicked the notice me not charm on the bike as they zoomed past some police cars.

"Seriously, just call me Jenny, Harry," Jennifer said as the skidded down a dark country lane, gripping onto the annoyed man a bit tighter.

"Of course, Jennifer."

"You're an asshol-e!" Jennifer shouted, the bike jerking to a quick stop, sending her face straight into Harold's hard back, "You did that on purpose!"

The black haired man dislodged her arms and pulled himself off the bike with practiced grace, "Contrary to the elevated opinion you have of yourself, the world doesn't revolve around you Jennifer. I stopped, because I am not spending two whole bloody hours trying to dislodge all of the dirt and shite that would attach itself to my bike, if I continued down the rest of this road to the Abbey. So get the fuck up."

That was a bit discourteous of him to say, but in his defence, he's had to put up with an annoying blonde mundane forcing him to ride his bike like a muggle, instead of flying over here in half the time.

"Sorry, I didn't know you were on your period," the woman snaked, jumping up from the bike as if it had called her mother a slovenly, two-penny crack whore. She spluttered when the man simply ignored her and began up the dirt path without a second glance.

"This doesn't look like a pub, _Harry_."

"I was about to comment on your utter _genius_ , but then you called me by the wrong name. _Again_. So I'll refrain for now," he said with a cocked brow, humming in amusement when the woman sent him an infuriated glare and tromped on ahead of him, "I want my sarcophagus back, and since the authorities are so useless around here, I'm going to get it myself."

Jenny paused, staring back at him with a worried face, "Harr-Harold, you're too obsessed with this, it… it isn't healthy for you."

Harold paused, staring at the woman for a long, pregnant moment, "This is the best thing that's happened to me in _10 years_ Jenny, I've never felt more alive since the moment I found that tomb," ' _that mummy'_ was left unsaid _._

"That _tomb_ holds the power of the Egyptian god of evil, Harold!"

"Set isn't the god of evil, Jenny."

She paused, staring at him in confusion, "What?"

"You're referencing the power of the dagger of Set, correct?" At her nod, he carried on, picking up his stride with a minute sense of urgency, "Set is actually the god of the _desert, storms, foreigners, violence_ and _disorder_. In many cultures, disorder and violence are seen as evil, but in any fight, anyone would want a god of violence on their side, thus his bloody and incorrectly evil image. Set, although associated with death, isn't primarily a god of death either, but rather a minor one, from what we know of Old Kingdom records. In new Kingdom, we aren't sure, a god does evolve with the ages, but Set, or Setesh, usurped the domains of Death and rebirth from his brother, Osiris, when he chopped him up and scattered him in a fit of jealousy. His hold over Death is determined by that moment," Harold said clinically, kicking a thick branch to the side and stepping into the faint light of the church up ahead.

"That… makes sense, but _how_?" Jenny picked up her pace to catch up with the tall man, looking to their destination with trepidation.

He chuckled, "how did I know? I've been raiding Egyptian tombs for just over 10 years Jennifer, and I'm fluent in ancient Egyptian, no amount of studying and books can ever equate to physical experience in the thick of ancient cultures."

They walked in silence for a while before he stopped, causing the blonde to look at him questioningly.

"I tend to not make a habit of this sort of thing, but the whisky I had before I left my flat is kicking in and I need to relive some pressure."

The man moved off the beaten path and into the darkness, chuckling at Jennifer's facial expression.

" _You've been drinking?_ " She shouted in a panicked tone.

"You survived my driving, didn't you?" He shouted back, pushing himself deeper through the foliage and tree's until he was completely enshrouded in darkness. Slowly, his body began to lengthen and thin, his feet moulding together and his neck spreading out. His bones creaked and shifted, and with a muffled sound of impact, Harold had disappeared, and a _Pharaoh's_ Egyptian Cobra had replaced him, a true cobra- _Naja Haje_.

The Cobra was incredibly long, but thin, not that its girth didn't belay the strong, corded muscles underneath shining onyx scales. But this Cobra wasn't a regular one, it was a genus long extinct to the mundane and magical communities. A _Heka Naja Haje,_ was a genus of magical, ancient serpents bred by ancient Egyptian high priests to safeguard the Pharaoh and throne of Egypt.

The secrets to their creation had been left incomplete, causing disasters like basilisks to emerge, but a _Pharaoh's Cobra_ was a killing machine. A _magical_ killing machine. Able to expand their body up to 100 times its original size, with venom that could as easily kill as it could heal. Their hoods, spined and ridged wickedly for intimidation, worked in tandem with their eyes; able to hypnotize any attackers or enemies of the throne into submission.

In all, they were perfect to safeguard the throne of Egypt, however, upon the death of the last true Egyptian Pharaoh, and the subsequent takeover of Egypt by Rome, the Cobras had been slowly killed off, their refusal to work for those who had orchestrated and endorsed the invasion of Egypt causing them to turn vicious and indiscriminate in their attacks.

Harold remembered his discovery of it almost as if it were yesterday:

When the young man had been working on his animagus form with his godfather in his 3rd year. The old dog and Remus were both stumped by what he could be, after he'd revealed his dreams to them. Harold, determined and unwilling to concede defeat, had scoured hundreds of books on snake species, searching for months until uncovering a book in the back of the Black library. It was a musty old tome titled ' _The Moste Olde and Potente Beaste_ ', and there, he had found the animal that reflected his true inner self.

The pitch cobra flickered its tongue, tasting the air, before slithering in the direction of the church ruins.

* * *

The Egyptian princess tapped her fingernails on the altar of the worn church, mildly agitated at her thralls taking such a long time to bring her tribute. She lifted her hand and observed her pale fingers, letting out a sneer at their mildly petrified appearance. Her chosen may not be as enthralled with her, if she was anything less than the perfection she personified in her prime. Letting out a brief snarl of anger and throwing her fist down onto the stone podium with enough force to crack it, she threw away her concerns. Her beauty will be fully restored in due time, and she would bask in _his_ adoration, and reward his fealty with her body.

It was a shame all the energy she absorbed could not restore the natural pallor of her skin, otherwise she would not worry herself so. With her chosen by her side though, where he _belonged_ , she would set about restoring her colour, bathing in the rays of the golden shun in his embrace, while they ruled over the masses, power of the god Set by their side. His grip on her was tenuous though. She imagined his only hold left on the world was by her pact, and her pact with him _alone_. For all of Set's great power, he would have _faded_ long ago without tribute, if she hadn't been praying to him in her grave, that is.

He would be infinitely pleased with his restoration after the completion of their agreement. Being the only god left alive to reign would grant him the boons of power that had been distributed to other worshipped gods long since gone. Even in her time they had begun to weaken, allowing Set to steal his brother's domains with little effort. After all, Set had more devotion due to his many powers, granting him more followers than his brother.

Her thralls chose that moment to enter the church, dragging a uniformed man with them, kicking and screaming. She sifted about the few memories she could access from her chosen one's mind, and the title ' _policeman_ ' flittered past her tongue. She launched herself from the altar with the grace of a pouncing tiger, sauntering over to the struggling, terrified man before locking his head in her vice like grip, drawing his energy with a satisfied moan. Her flesh filled out and her skin grew over lightening black bones.

She moved away from the convulsing corpse, letting out a pleased sigh when entering an adjoined room to face a dusty mirror. Ripping off a moth bitten piece of curtain, she swiped across it quickly before looking at her reflected image in contemplation. Her face was almost fully restored, two superficial pieces of skin still missing from her jaw and nose, showing a bit of petrified muscle, much to her displeasure, but most of her body was now intact. She shifted a few yellowing bandages over a few problem areas in an out of character, self-conscious gesture.

She hissed at herself quietly, begrudging herself for acting like a shy, diseased peasant instead of the rightful queen she was, but she couldn't help comparing herself subconsciously to the few previous lovers she had glimpsed at from Chosen one's memories. Angrily throwing the rag ripped from the still swaying curtain away, she spun away from the mirror and stomped back into the main room of the church, pacing in front of the worn stone altar.

Ahmanet had sent images of her prison to her chosen, hoping he would be lured to her location, but he still hadn't come. Where was he?

Reaching out tentatively, she brushed against his mind through their bond, catching a few brief glimpses of a shadowed forest, and a lit up church. She furrowed her brow, that was her location, but why was he so low to the ground?

Shaking her head briefly to clear her thoughts, she pulled away from his mind and actually reached out with her senses, feeling him moving towards her at a sedate pace. He was coming to her.

She resisted the urge to smile as she moved out of the church through a broken back entrance, watching from the darkness as he suddenly appeared in the tree line, looking about in a paranoid fashion before striding towards the ruins next to the church. She followed, crawling up to the caved in second floor of the building, watching him with her split, eager eyes.

He appeared to be vaguely aware of her presence, looking for her where she had been scant moments ago. Good, he was hers, and she would not accept anything but a person striving to _perfection_ , and by the look of his musculature and his mannerisms, he was a _warrior_. _**Her**_ _Warrior_. She quickly retreated from the ruins and moved back to the church, sending him visions of her beckoning him. Moving behind a pillar, she watched as he moved through the heavy, oak doors and into the centre of the room, moonlight slithering in from the broken windows and shining upon his figure, highlighting his strong features with dark shadows. His strange garbs showed his figure passably well, but not well enough, she would allow him this for a short while, only until she outfitted him like the king he _**was going**_ to be.

Ahmanet disliked the location chosen for the ritual, but she could do little else, as they were short on time. She would make it up to him, she thought, moving over behind another pillar as he spun to look at where she had been. She smirked in victory, peeking out from behind the wooden benches lined up in the room. He seemed to be trying to come up with something to say, closing his eyes in a moment of thought. This was her chance, and she _lunged_ towards him.

Unfortunately, it seemed she had underestimated his reflexes, as he caught her upon her airborne approach, spinning her and holing his arm to her throat, her back flush against his front, and she took a brief moment to appreciate his physique against hers. She struggled halfheartedly, one part of her wanting to rise to the challenge, the other curious to see where this would go. The latter, it seemed, was a more vocal choice, so she relaxed, and waited to see how this would play out.

* * *

Heavenly, would be his word to describe seeing her, and _touching_ her body for real, instead of in a dream, was better than he could have _ever_ imagined. Although her body was still patchy, her beauty still shone despite her state, and that was enough for him. Harold bit his tongue and resisted the urge to let out a groan, when the entirety of her body _pressed_ against him in her brief struggle, before relaxing and resting against him completely. He bit his lip, idly using a finger to trace her shoulder as he thought of something to say.

Lamely, it was, "Nice to finally meet you, in person."

Great.

"You seem to enjoying putting me in this position, _**Se'tepai**_ ," She murmured quietly, with a lilting, exotic accent, a pale hand rising to rest upon his. Before he could even notice what was happening, she had pulled his hand and arm away from her neck, and spun them about, her hands clamping around his head, and her elbows pressing against his shoulders, allowing him minimal downwards movement. It was the first time he had seen her face, and he wasn't disappointed.

Her face was heart shaped, with regal, high cheekbones and a defined, curved jaw. Her nose was small and flat, rounded at the end. Runes decorated her forehead, their black colour standing out starkly against her pale skin that almost _glowed_ in the moonlight, which brought out the definition of her cheeks and arched, black brows with its casted shadow. Her hair drifted down the sides of her face, emphasising the feminine beauty of her features with its dark lustre. His gaze dropped subconsciously before he could look into her eyes, drinking in the shape of her body. Her curves were flawless, with her hips flaring from her small waist at an angle a man could slide down. Her legs were long and corded with perfectly toned muscles, despite their millennia of disuse.

Harold's gaze moved upwards, lingering on her chest a bit longer than appropriate, even in their rather intimate position. They were a rather perfect size, not too small, and not obscenely large, but a perfect handful he could worship. Unconsciously, the tall man's hands rose to feel a perfectly crafted behind as his eyes devoured her delicate collarbones and shoulders. His hands frosted over to her hips as he dragged his gaze from her plump, dark lips, before staring into split, amber eyes, which seemed distinctly pleased at his eager appraisal of her body.

" _ **Does my body please you, my saviour?**_ " She spoke in her mother tongue, her fingers running through his hair slowly. He swallowed, nodding slightly and letting out a pleased groan as she gifted him with her touch. Her amber eyes sparkled in amusement as she observed him, walking them backwards towards the altar. Harold opened his eyes when his back hit the stone of the raised dais, emerald eyes staring into double gold curiously. She ignored his gaze and lowered him onto the stone, climbing up and straddling him when she was satisfied with his position.

Moisture vanished from his mouth when she drew herself up proudly, bathing in the soft light of the moon as her eyes trailed upon him, leaking seduction. His hands once again found her hips, drifting down and rubbing down to her beautiful, muscled thighs before repeating their course. Her eyes heated as she stared at him, drilling into his head with their intensity. He swallowed again as she licked her lips.

" _ **Do I make you nervous, my Chosen?**_ " She asked, her voice like warmed, dripping dark chocolate, utterly sinful he thought briefly.

" _ **There are quite a few things you are doing to me, you exquisite being, but nervousness in a minor one,**_ " he said huskily, clearing his throat and trying to desperately get his mind kick started, and out of the haze she drew him into constantly.

She practically _purred_ from her perch above him, her hands reaching for his face, turning his sharp jaw gently and pulling on his chin to stare at his pearly teeth. Harold simply watched her, not enough brain power to even fuel a single syllable, let alone word to ask her what she was doing. She shifted slightly, driving him mildly insane before she ripped apart his shirt, the sound of tinkling, falling buttons echoing in the room as her hands let go of the ripped article.

Faster than his gaze could follow, her hands fell upon his stomach, feeling hard muscles built from years of exploring, fighting and Quidditch. He was never more grateful for those experiences as he lay, mildly helpless, for her perusal. Her mouth opened a little in a sinfully provocative sigh, her tongue darting out to lick her lips as her hands climbed up his torso eagerly. She leant down as her hands traced his collar and shoulders, her body rolling against his, causing him to shift at the pleasurable sensations. She looked into his eyes again, her lips curling into a smirk as if she knew what he was feeling.

" _ **I am pleased with what I see, my chosen.**_ "

" _ **I am definitely pleased,**_ " Harold echoes numbly, everything she did enraptured him, and she knew it. She smiled in a way that throttled his mind to the edge of propriety, but he didn't bloody care.

" _ **God of Death, powerful Setesh,**_ " She whispered rubbing his pectorals with harried breaths, and even though he knew what she was about to do, Harold didn't give a _flying monkeys toss_ if she wanted to rip off his _broomstick_ and feed it to Vail's decaying _corpse_ if she kept on like this, " _ **I welcome you into this mortal body…**_ "

Her left hand lashed out as her right gripped his shoulder and held him down with strength that was an anathema to her small stature. Her left hand came back into his view with the dagger he had seen in her visions to him, and she raised it above her head, her eyes closed in prayer.

" _ **Unite to me finally!**_ "

The dagger dropped towards him at a breakneck speed, and he watched, time slowing to a crawl as the blackened, grotesque dagger approached his heart.

And then she _stopped_.

He looked up to her eyes, which were widened in shock, staring at the hilt of the dagger with a bewildered expression that was slowly turning into angered disbelief. His body subconsciously moved upwards, his hands holding her arms comfortingly as her body slid off his hips to rest on his thighs.

Ahmanet looked up to him then, a silver of a tear dripping out of her eye, he rubbed it away gently as she leaned to his touch. Defeat radiating from her pale body.

" _ **It's gone…**_ "

" _ **What?**_ " He asked, eyes pleading with her to tell him how to make this up to her. She stared at him, her gaze occasionally dropping to the dagger held lightly in her hands. Her head dropped and thudded against his chest with a frustrated sigh.

A creak echoed out, interrupting their comfortable, solemn silence, and both Ahmanet and Harold's heads whipped to the entrance of the church, where Jenny stood, her face slack as she stared at them. Ahmanet looked at him, and he looked at her, before her eyes flickered back to Jennifer.

" _Jennifer?_ "

She squeaked, "…yeah?"

He sighed, watching the Egyptians shoulders tense and shake in fury, "you're a _bloody **dipshit**_."

* * *

 **All done, I wanted to throw a bit more character development onto Ahmanet. I mean, she could have shambled about as a half decayed mummy after she could walk, but instead she kept going, so I kind of capitalised on that. Lemme know what you think.**

 **Again, I want to thank all of you wonderful people, for your favourites and follows in your silent support, you guys rock, and it means a lot that you still show that you like this story.**

 **And I'd like to thank all of my reviewers too, a lot more of the content I've been thinking of for this story has been solidified due to your support and opinions. Cheers!**

 _ **Replies to reviews:**_

 **Lazymanjones96** **:** _ **Thank you, and I hope you stick around to see more!**_

 **Wanna Firewhiskey** **:** _ **Thank you! And Raven familiar he shall have! I love avian familiars too, and I hope you like the middle ground I've tried to go for with the animagus form. I am undoubtedly humbled by your response**_

 **death444** **:** _ **Thank you! I love their romance too, and I hope you are here for when the story ends too, your support is appreciated**_

 **Gaelas** **:** _ **I'm glad you think so, and thank you! I will try**_

 **Dieter17** **:** _ **thank you for reading the chapter, haha! It was primarily your review, along with**_ _ **Halariel**_ _ **'s**_ _ **that made me solidify the animagus I went for, as the Titanoboa is pretty useless due to its huge size, so thank you!**_

 **IPROI** **:** _ **I'm glad you liked the last chapter, and I hope you enjoy this one too! :D**_

 **f1151241:** _ **Here you go!**_

 **Halariel** **:** _ **Haha thank you! When you've watched it, throw out any ideas you have at me :P And thank you! You really helped a lot when coming to the decision about the animagus, and I hope you enjoyed what I did! :D**_

 **FlyingHunter** **:** _ **Thank you for your review, it really helped me when trying to shape up the chapter, and gave me a big boost in confidence. I was so excited because of such a great response that I rushed to post and didn't take my time with it, but thank you for reminding me to ease up on it! I hope you stick about for the long haul! :D**_

 **Aka-chansama** **:** _ **Thank you for your kind words! I toyed with the idea of the basilisk for a while, but it's been done so many times it isn't unique enough anymore, and I think the snake has a sort of symbolism that strikes at me for some weird reason xD Yes, Harry is the MoD, and I've dropped a couple of hints about that I don't think anyone's clocked onto yet and it's BIG. Set will be the only god massively featured in this fic, all other gods are just in reference though. The wizarding world is something I'm planning to break into in perhaps another arc of the story or in a sequel if it goes that far, haha! Thank you so much for your support :D**_

 **marlastiano:** _ **Thank you for your review! I hope you enjoy this new chapter.**_

 **hellfire45** **:** _ **Thank you! It would break me if that were the case though, I planned this whole story on the evolution of their relationship :L**_

 **Sarc1407:** _ **Here you go, and thank you for your support!**_

 **That's all until next time guys, any suggestions and constructive criticism is welcome, however, flames will be enjoyed with a bag of popcorn and a augh before being deleted.**

 **Thanks for reading,**

 **Kitsune.**


	4. Chapter 3

_**Hey guys, sorry for such a long wait for this update. I've had a very busy and trying month, and I apologise. Aside from that, here is the next chapter. We get a brief glimpse into the past of Harry, and a snapshot of things to come.**_

 _ **A huge thanks to all my reviewers, followers and favourites. I'm getting a larger audience now and more reviews, so I'm keeping myy comments and thankyou's a small as possible to not overextend on word count, but nonetheless, you guys motivate me to keep writing in darker times :)**_

 _ **Most of you have been questioning Harry's connection to St or Death, and whle some of your comments are very interesting, not one of you is close to guessing the connections.**_

 _ **As for a review form one of my favourite authors Arawn D. Draven, yes, there is planned out interaction between our deathly couple and the Wizarding world, which I'm begginning to lay the groundwork out on.**_

 _ **To Dovahkiin1503 I do like the what role you assume Harry takes on in being the MOD, but thing of Harry's role being more... fluid.**_

 _ **And a huge thank you to my new Beta**_ **FlyingHunter** _ **. You're doing me a solid.**_

 _ **Any mistakes are still my own, but hopefully less.**_

 _ **As always,**_

 _ **Enjoy!**_

* * *

Chapter 3

All is fair in love and war, or when a hot ancient Egyptian princess starts a catfight with a rudely stalker-ish blonde, there was no need for him to even remotely try to be involved. After the nightmarish dagger was slammed right in-between his legs, Harold watched, mildly scared and half aroused, as Ahmanet launched herself from atop of him straight towards Jenny. He had briefly toyed with the idea of summoning some popcorn, before reminding himself it was probably a bad idea; when they finished up, for him to just be sat there with a cold butterbeer and snacks enjoying the show, he'd probably be the recipient of an ass kicking himself, so he refrained. As if reading his thoughts the spectre chuckled, dissipating into wisps and reforming after Jenny was thrown through him.

Jenny popped back up from behind the altar as Ahmanet began to prowl down to it herself, and stared at the nonchalant man incredulously.

" _Harry!_ " She shrieked indignantly, gripping his arm.

"' _Harry_ '," The man repeated in a mocking, nasally voice, "When is someone going to scream my name in the way that it counts, instead of shouting at me for a reason I'm supposed to impossibly decipher?" Harold stated petulantly, shrugging her arm off with an annoyed face. She gave him one of those 'are you serious looks' and he stared at her flatly.

"Oh for god's sake!" The blonde reached between the man's thighs to grip the dagger and Ahmanet growled dangerously, flying towards the blonde with a snarl, "shit!"

Ahmanet grabbed the blonde by the throat and slammed her into the wall, so incensed that she didn't notice when the woman stabbed her in the back with her own dagger.

Harold's vision blurred as the Egyptian shrieked, her hands clawing at her back to remove the dagger as she dropped Jenny.

Quickly Jenny grabbed the pale man's hand and dragged him from the church with more strength than he expected from the thin woman.

His brain felt like it had been scrambled, and he couldn't even piece together a single thought as Jenny pushed him into an ambulance and told him to drive. Bewildered, the poor man reacted on instinct and floored the gas of the ambulance, his mind slightly clearer. The words tumbling from the woman's mouth actually began to make coherent sense in his addled brain.

"And she still has the dagger Harry, what the hell are we going to do?"

"Technically, Jennifer, this is all your fault," Harold said plainly, turning left as his mind scrambled again. Shaking his head, he reached for the gear stick and tugged it upwards, speeding up slightly.

"What?" Jenny hissed, and if looks could kill- well, if he could be killed by a look, Harold imagined he'd be in more pain than that bloody basilisk put him through.

"If you didn't come waltzing in with your thieving friends, trying to steal my find, none of this would've happened," the emerald eyed man stated, throwing the self-righteous woman an annoyed glance, pushing his foot farther onto the pedal. He idly mused what would have happened if the belligerent blonde and her thieving associates hadn't come and ruined his day.

"There were terrorists coming Harry! I probably saved you!" Jenny shouted, pulling at her hair lightly in frustration before twisting her hands in a vaguely guilt manner.

"Again, this is all your fault, if you hadn't opened your legs, I probably wouldn't be in this situation, rather, I would be in my home, enjoying a nice, stiff drink and congratulating myself," Harold continued his offence, a small part of his mind wondering what legs could've opened, before shrugging away the ungentlemanly thoughts.

"Or, you'd have 5 inches of evil dagger inside your heart!" She protested, smacking his arm with a growl that spoke volumes of how crazy his obstinacy was driving her.

"Semantics, Jennifer."

"You, are impossible," Jenny paused, her eyes widening as they turned haphazardly, "She lured you there."

"What?" The ambulance jerked, speeding up.

"The dagger must have been there," Jenny continued, not bothering to elaborate exactly what the pale man had posed his question for. He let out a muffled sigh, tapping a finger on the steering wheel of the large vehicle as the spectre chuckled again.

"In the reliquary, actually," he elaborated, watching as the woman began to piece together the facts in her own, convoluted world sense. It was mildly amusing to watch, only if he could even begin to make sense of whatever cock and bull story would come flying out her nose, yet again.

"Of course, Christian crusaders hid holy, or in this case, unholy artefacts inside them, to keep them safe and out of the wrong hands," she muttered to herself, staring at Harold from the corner of her eye. She shifted, rapping her knuckles against the dashboard, blowing a few strands of hair out from her sweaty face rather ungracefully.

Harry pulled a face, turning the ambulance again, "yes, Jennifer, I know what a damned reliquary is."

The blonde puffed up at his dismissive attitude, and he almost let out a maniacal giggle at how easily she got riled up at his little pokes and prods. She was far more entertaining to annoy than the dungeon bat. Bloody spiteful bastard. He was so glad he rammed his wand down the traitorous man's throat and set him on fire from the inside out. Never again had he thought the scent of burning grease had been so satisfying. He let out a small, pleased smile.

"She lured you there Harry."

Aaaaand the smile was gone.

"Harold, and I went there of my own free will," the emerald eyed man rebuked, his free hand ragging the gearstick with a little more force than necessary. He had left the arms of a seductive Egyptian mummy for this? He snorted, not the first time his terrible luck had fucked him over 6 ways to Sunday.

"She would've killed you if I wasn't there to stop her and her mind games," Jenny said smugly, giving her black haired companion a smug look, crossing her arms in what she classed as a victory.

Harold rolled his eyes, sneering at the woman, "I would have lived Jenny, stop being so melodramatic," the sarcasm practically rolled off his tongue.

But of course, the woman wouldn't let bygones be bygones.

"She's inside your head, Harry, she's making you do these things," she insisted, her dark eyebrows furrowing at his dismissive, cynical attitude. He was really getting on her last nerve it seemed.

Harold could almost see the vein popping on her forehead, and he idly wondered whether or not he would give the archaeologist an aneurysm that would send her to an early grave. He shrugged, if he did, he did, he stopped giving a fuck after the woman shit all over his parade in Iraq.

The ambulance came to an abrupt stop, causing the blonde's head to bump against the dash none to gently. With a muttered curse, she looked up at him with murder in her eyes.

"You know what, I think you're right," Harry admitted, with a brief glance to the sky to see if it had started raining pillars of scorching hellfire across the globe.

"What?"

He motions towards the window.

"Oh my god," she shrieked in fright, and just this once, maybe Harold was okay with admitting the annoying woman was right. After all, the look on her face was one he'd have to archive in his pensive to be glorified for the rest of his long, long life.

There, outside the church they had exited not ten minutes before, was Ahmanet, stalking towards them with all the grace of a pouncing lioness, hips swaying almost melodically. A satisfied, superior smirk danced across her grey lips as she stared at them with hooded, smouldering amber eyes.

Jenny leaps out of the truck as if it burned her and crossed the van. Harold watched as she opened his door, shoved him to the side, and skidded off in a matter of moments. His emerald eyes looked down to the mirror on his door and connected them to golden ones. There was an anger burning in those doubled irises, a venomous one, but this split second of reflected eye contact allowed him the brief opportunity to send a message to the Egyptian princess.

'Stay safe. I'll find you.'

He ignored Jennifer's frantic, harried breaths and reached for the radio dials. He quickly switched onto a radio station, and relished in the severe offence taken in by the blonde when he turned up the volume. Just in time for the chorus of ACDC's Highway to Hell to kick in. He outright laughed when an inferi like creature jumped up and gripped the corners of Jenny's windows and clawed at her relentlessly.

His companion was absolutely apoplectic as she jerked about the steering wheel and elbowed the creature with a surprising tenacity. The zombified creature was sent careening into the woods with a sickening crunch as the undead construct slammed into a thick tree. The blonde floored the gas, panting for a good five minutes before the van slowed to a crawl at the end of the country lane where his bike was. Harold quickly jumped out of the vehicle and approached his bike with a smile. He hardly even registered the annoying woman exiting the car with him as he stroked the handle of his bike before mounting it.

"I need to take you somewhere safe, Harry."

He turned to look at the woman with incredulous green eyes, his hand emerging from his back pocket to retrieve his keys, "I can get to safety perfectly well on my own, Jennifer. In fact, I find it highly insulting that as a grown man, you find me incapable of handling my own safety."

The look she gave to him almost made him reconsider the fact she may have been completely off the rocker, "I highly doubt driving a motorcycle towards a murderous, life leeching mummy with a questionable amount of sobriety, gives anyone a reason to believe in your capabilities of being safe, Harold," she said, motioning to his bike, "besides, I know people who can help you."

Harold's glare almost resulted in Jenny having a heart attack, by the fact it was almost acidic enough to leave her hands shaking, "I don't need to be helped if they are anything like you."

Little did Jenny know, those words were last spoken by someone who should have loved him unconditionally, only to throw him to the wolves when he questionably needed them the most.

The tall man turned on his bike and flipped the kickstand in an angry manner.

"Where are you going to go?" She whispered so quietly, he almost didn't hear her.

"I'm going to see an old friend."

Then he drove off, nary a glance back at the shaking woman.

* * *

Ahmanet screamed in pain, releasing the blonde whore from her grip as she struggled to pull the blade from her own back. It came out with a wet, sliding sound that grated beneath her ears as she raged at the audacity the blonde had to stab _her_ , a queen who rightly stood above insects like her who dare to interfere with Ahmanet and her Chosen's time together.

Her mind lolled about due to the feedback of the jewel-less dagger that had moments ago been in her back, and in a moment of clarity, she realised it affected her Chosen's mind too as the blonde bitch dragged him away, his jewelled eyes hazy and unfocused.

She screamed in frustration, her Chosen slipping through her grasp once again at the hands of the vile cunt who had separated him from her before. She hated that slattern with a frothing, erupting sense of jealousy. Who was she to take him from her? Who was she to touch her precious one so brazenly? Who was she to breathe the same air as her cherished future king with such audacity?

She was going to kill her. She was going to pin the thieving wench to a table and rip out her eyes with her own hands. She was going to rip the fingernails from her filthy, disgusting hands and relish in her screams, then pluck out her tongue so she could never utter a slanderous syllable to her Chosen again. She would pry her teeth from her large, loud mouth, then tear her hands from her body for daring to touch what was hers. She'd flay the skin from her disgusting body so she would be so hideous, her Chosen could never bear to even glance in the whore's direction again. And then, she'd hammer the nails down onto her limbs herself, and leave the bitch in the scalding sun to be eaten by the crows and rats like she deserved, for ever daring to touch what belonged to her.

She was so close! She almost had him, and she could almost taste him. She could still feel his warmth under her, and she felt the sparks igniting in her womanhood. Ahmanet licked her lips, letting out a brief moan at the recalling of him, laying underneath her, his hands and eyes devouring her with heat.

He was as beautiful as he was when he had freed her, perhaps even more. Handsome and dark and powerful. She shuddered, letting out a breathy sigh. He was hers. Even now she could feel his longing almost as much as her own.

Reaching into his still confused mind, she nudges him her way, relishing as he moved to her requests almost eagerly. She strode from the dirty church, her eyes searching the darkness, lighting the moment he arrived.

A smirk pulled at her lips as he was in front of her yet again, his eyes meeting hers with a satisfied glint and the ghost of a smile on his face. Her face contorts into a scowl as she approaches when the woman with hair the colour of sand jumps from the car and shoves her chosen into the bitch's previously occupied seat.

She runs towards them, her mind clouding with anger as the blonde takes him from her again.

Then their eyes meet through the reflected glass, his gaze a soothing balm to her soul.

'Stay safe. I'll find you.'

He will find her. He cares for her. That is enough, enough to know that the thieving blonde does not have a hold on him. She settles as they move away from her, sending a petty, disposable thrall to get one last shot on the woman she now regarded an obstacle to her success. Ahmanet resolved to let her live a little longer though. Her death would be so sweet, and she could almost taste it already.

She knows this place is no longer safe though, the concern from her chosen proving her train of thought, so she commands her thralls to return and decides to move, she will bring her chosen to back into her waiting embrace another day. For now, she will move through the cover of darkness until her Chosen returned to her. This would also give the Princess enough time to locate her stone by herself, and she resolved to try and restore herself, so the celebration of her penultimate victory with her Chosen will be all the bit more pleasurable.

* * *

With a muted rumble, Harold pulls to a stop outside the old, beautiful house he called home a long time ago. He shifts off his bike, and locks it on a second thought, before walking up the arched pathway leading up to the home of one of his greatest friends and ally.

Wiping his palm on his leg, he lifted and knocked on the old, dark pine doors. Tapping his foot mindlessly as he waited for a response. A few moments later, a dark skinned young man opened the door and blinked, almost in disbelief.

"Harold?" The dark skinned man whispered.

"Yeah. It's me."

Blaise Zabini hugged Harold with a reassuring strength, his hands clutching at the leather of his jacket.

"I've missed you man," Blaise said quietly, his arms tightening, and the tall, pale man's arms lifted too, to hug the man he thought of as his own family.

"I've missed you too, brother."

* * *

"Is anyone sat in here?" An 11 year old Blaise Zabini asked, his eyes darting around the cabin curiously, every picture of a noble, young heir, except from the fact one hand was nervously worrying the end of his robe.

"No just me," a young, less well dressed Harry Potter replied readily, staring at the young boy suspiciously.

"Cool, mind if I join?" Blaise asked, moving a little further into the cabin.

"Not at all." The young man's eyes brightened considerably, and he dragged his dark wooden trunk into the compartment, giving Harry a small, grateful smile.

The emerald eyed boy watched him like a hawk, searching for any sign of deceit, before looking back at his book, seemingly satisfied.

"Blaise Zabini, a pleasure." The boy of Italian decent introduced, a hand reaching out for an amicable handshake. The messy haired boy looked at his tan hand for a solid moment, before his own, similarly small pale hand reached out and reciprocated the gesture.

"Harry Potter. Nice to meet you too."

"Really?" Blaise asked, his dark hazelnut eyes widening marginally before he sat down, pulling a book of his own from his trunk before hefting it up into the overhead baggage shelf.

"Yeah, why?" Harry said, not really computing the fact that he was famous purely for the fact he killed a man as a baby. An 'evil' man nonetheless, but he still killed him.

"It's just, you've been gone for ages, and nobody knew where you were." The purple eyed boy said haltingly, searching for any sign of displeasure at his new cabin mate.

"I've been around." The pale boy answered mysteriously, his eyes trailing back to his book.

"Have you met your parents?" Blaise asked.

"I have parents?"

* * *

"Potter, Harry."

"Ravenclaw!"

"Zabini, Blaise."

"Ravenclaw!"

"I thought you said you were going into Slytherin?" Harry asked the scion, his hands moving to gather some food after the old man finished his stupid speech.

"Well, I can't leave my new friend on his own, can I?" He smiled, patting Harry on the back gently as he sat down in his new, blue and bronze trimmed robe.

* * *

"What are you doing hanging out with a slimy dark wizard Harry? We should be friends!" The ignorant, red headed Gryffindor first year shouted, gesturing wildly in his frayed, red edged robe.

Harry Potter's eyes could've split a solid beam of steel apart as he stared down the foolish, arrogant young man.

"Blaise is my friend, now fuck off," He ordered venomously.

* * *

"Harry!" Blaise shouted in a panicked, harried tone as a wall of scorching fire blazed into existence between them, separating the two staunch friends.

"Blaise, go back and take Padma to the nurse's wing, I can take care of it," Harry assured, desperate to get his two, only friends back to safety and away from whatever kind of man made monster he now had to face to keep them alive.

Blaise had tears in his eyes, recoiling from the flames that spurned him away from his best friend as he tried to reach out and help him. When the young, pale man walked away, he let a groan of helpless frustration escape him.

"Goddamn it Harry!"

* * *

"Harry… Potter… The-boy-who-lived… tell me Harry, how does it feel to be abandoned? We're quite similar, you and I. I was abandoned as well, by my filthy muggle father!"

"I…"

"Join me Harry! We can take our revenge! I know what those muggles have done to you Harry, I've seen your parents abandon you, they don't deserve you, Harry. Join me! Join me and we can rule them all!"

"You tried to kill me!"

"Foolish boy, if I was really trying, would you really still be alive?"

* * *

"Harry, my boy, I believe it's in your best interests to spend the summer getting to know your parents…" The twinkling eyes of the man who had surrendered Harry to those monsters riled him up like no one ever had before. Not Snape and his petty grudges, not McGonagall and her silent disappointment. Not the annoying stalking of the bushy haired, annoying self-righteous Gryffindor bookworm. Not the pretentious, blonde haired or red haired prats from Slytherin or Gryffindor. Not the tears of the woman who left his safety to another, and not even the shouts of the man who was married to her. This old man, this bastard, singlehandedly destroyed whatever hope Harry could've had at a normal life. He hated him.

He wanted to kill him.

"They abandoned me! They have no right!"

"Harry…"

" **NO!** "

* * *

"Are you sure you want to spend the summer with my family Harry?" Blaise asked quietly, concerned for his near silent best friend. Padma watched them, a hand reaching out to hold Harry's hand comfortingly.

"Of course Blaise, I wouldn't have said yes if I didn't." He replied monotonously, earning winces from his young companions.

"I mean, you do have a family of your own… if you wanted to stay with them I wouldn't be mad." Blaise said, trying not to frown at the thought of Harry going back to those… those… monsters.

"Don't be silly Blaise… they aren't my family, you are. You're my brother Blaise." Harry turned, his hand flipping to squeeze Padma's hand just as comfortingly as she held his, "and you're my sister Padma. I won't ever let you two down. I swear it."

They both smiled at him reassuringly, moving in to give him hugs, and for the first time in his life, Harry didn't flinch.

"Thanks Harry… let's have fun this summer, yeah?" Blaise said quietly into his ear, squeezing him lightly.

* * *

Harry looked about the lavishly decorated home in awe, his eyes widening at the golden filigree and chandeliers that decorated the richly painted walls. The portraits hung upon them smiled at him happily, some waving, others grinning at him from horseback as they charged across the beautifully painted canvases. Blaise's mother was there to greet them, and she smiled at him warmly, gently, as she embraced him in a soft, comforting hug, introducing herself amidst the billowing scent of her lavender, flowing robes.

"Call me Anastasia," She had said, pausing when trying to think of a name to call him, "…Harold," she murmured, sending him a brilliant, white smile as she guided him to the solar, "Mrs Zabini makes me feel far too old, you see, so I'd prefer it if you called me Ana," she sent the young man a charming wink as she looped her arms with both Blaise and Harold, "better yet, call me Mom."

Harry grinned.

* * *

Harold paused, gathering his wits as Blaise poured the two a glass of Myrmish scotch. He never quite grasped the theory of making such an exquisite libation underwater, but he tacked it up to magic and enjoyed the drink in his own merry way. He was startled from his ponderings when a familiar flapping made it's way through the window and a gentle, clawed weight made itself known upon his shoulder. His grassy eyes crinkled at the edges as he smiled up at his familiar and long-time friend.

"Its good to see you again, Morgana," he said softly, pushing his index finger down her lilac tinted, black feathered chest as she preened and croaked at him gently, grooming a few strands of his long hair with her beak.

"She's been driving me up the bloody wall while you've been gone, peacocking about all over the business papers and making a general nuisance of herself to get answers on when you'd be back," Blaise stated with a wry chuckle, setting down the pale man's glass as he fell back onto the cushioned, cream sofa.

"She was just worried is all."

Blaise hummed before he reclined his head, nursing his glass as he smiled ruefully, "tell that to Commissar Elfdeuch, nearly ripped my head off for the footprints all over the latest export agreement."

"He's always got a bee in his bonnet Blaise, pay him no mind, he needed those more than he would like to let on. Let him blather for a while before you remind him this is a favour to him," Harold chastised, taking a sip of his drink, savouring the unorthodox, biting taste and smooth, slightly salty flavour that cleansed his palate.

"I suppose so," his brother wondered, "this is why you should be around more often, you have a better mind about this than me, I can bounce the paperwork off you instead," he paused as the man across from him let out a small chuckle, "So, what have you been up to then?"

"Ahh, avoiding terrorists, discovering tombs and awakening an ancient Egyptian princess who wants to jump my bones, teriibly normal stuff really, you wouldn't be interested."

Harold smirked when the tanned man gave him the look Anastasia Zabini was so famous for when her impeding honeymoon was about to become so terribly, unequivocally tragic. With no justifiable evidence of her involvement of course.

"Yes, well, I've been sorting through your mail as usual, a few suggested alliances, a marriage contract or two, or ten, oh, and about fifteen dozen letters from the Potters, they've been unusually persistent in the past two months."

"I thought they would have clacked their clogs by now and would be out my way, I suppose it would have been a foolish notion to entertain," he stated, swirling his glass with all the interest of a remote glacier.

Yes, he meant the inanimate, non-sentient mundane glaciers, not the magical, mischievous kind that sunk the titanic.

"One could only hope," Blaise sighed, his dark eyes refocusing on his wayward, adopted brother, "have you been in contact with Padma yet?"

"No," Harold blinked, "I've been terribly preoccupied. Truthfully my visit was a spur of the moment thing, though I'm not denying the relief speaking to you has given to me," He paused, "How has she been?"

"She's being driven bloody mad acting as PR for Parvati, I'll tell you that, hasn't stopped nagging about you though. She nearly drove my doors off their hinges the other week demanding to see her brother. I broke out the Italian truffles though, that subsided her more current irritation."

Harold let out a sigh of relief, "I'll have to visit soon. I find myself with nothing to do for the time being, so I suppose I'll make a few appearances here and there, to keep myself occupied."

Blaise reached over the small dining table with a winning, pearly smile and clapped his brother over the shoulder, "that's a good sport!"

They smiled at each other warmly, and clinked their glasses together in a celebratory fashion.

"All hail the return of the mighty Harold Potter!"

"Hmm, not for much longer," Blaise blinked at him bemusedly, "I'm due for an appointment at Gringotts, my Godfather has left me a rather useful inheritance, along with the Black name, and, well, being the Master of the Hallows affords me another, powerful title I think will serve me quite nicely."

"Peverell?"

"Quite."

"All hail Harold Peverell-Black, the mighty slayer of the Dark Tosser and Champion of Neutrality!"

"Do you want a job as my hype man? You take to it surprisingly well, Blaise."

He sniffed pompously, "I'll have a word with my lawyer, but I'll be too busy arranging your funeral for when Padma gets her claws into you."

If Harold could pale any further, he would have, "It's not that bad… is it?"

"Would white geraniums be acceptable, or a deep blue? They are for your funeral wreath, I'd hate to mess that up."

* * *

 _ **And all done! As always, thank you for reading, and I appreciate any and all feedback you can and do give me.**_

 _ **Until next time,**_

 _ **Kitsune.**_


	5. Chapter 4

_**Hey guys, sorry for the extremely long wait. Real life got in the way, and well, I was kind of on the low for a long time.**_

 _ **There have been so many comments, favourites and follows since I've last updated that I unfortunately cannot reply to all of them today, but I will reply on my next chapter to any new comments. The next chapter will probably be out sometime this week, possibly tomorrow with the rate I'm writing.**_

 _ **I dedicate this chapter to my Grandfather, who passed September last year. You were my rock, and I only hope to continue to make you proud.**_

 _ **Enjoy.**_

* * *

 **Chapter 4:**

Harold had always had a bit of fondness for Goblin architecture, with efficient cleanliness and harsh, sanitary colours. He was also especially fond of their policies on customer privacy. Especially _rich_ customer's privacy. Hence why he was currently indulging in a potent scotch in waiting area of the bank, specially cordoned off and sequestered away from normal customers, enjoying the security of goblin guards to keep away the rabble as he read through his monthly quarter. What wizards did not know about the stout, vicious beings was that it was not respect which earned Goblin favour, but rather an abundance of gold, the ability to increase one's own gold, and the customers' ability as a warrior, which he had proven time and time again since he first started his wizard education.

'Got to love preferential treatment,' Harold thought idly, swirling the amber liquor around the rims of the crystalline glass, an exquisite example of how Goblins were equally as talented in fine working with fragile components, as well as their propensity in metalworking and stone carving.

"Mr Potter?" He lifted his gaze to a particularly scarred and fearsome looking goblin.

"Silverfist, your scarred visage is as magnificent as ever," He stated with a roguish grin, "may our riches be many," The tall man said, fisting his heart and bowing slightly as the grizzled goblin returned the courtesy. Surprisingly for most, to hold many scars is highly valued in goblin society. It's regarded as proof that you had survived troubling opposition, and had gained badges of triumph against strong enemies they had now left behind in bloodied dirt.

Unsurprisingly, bloodied lands of great battles were akin to holy ground to Goblin kind, as much as rich ore and gemstone deposits were. Gringotts bank itself was purported to be built on the legendary grounds of where the historical battle of Camlann took place, which was the reason for why after 1,500 years after the battle, muggle kind had not found the ancient grounds.

Another component of battlegrounds, especially ancient battlegrounds being important and coveted by goblins was the volume of sacrificial blood and magic that had been spilt. In addition to being the grounds of felled warriors, war and battle itself was a monumental sacrifice to a cause, which enhances magic for rituals and delicate magical study and acts.

It was also for such reasons the Egyptian pyramids were coveted by magical governments and Gringotts itself, the amount of sacrifice and blood that was used to build ancient Egyptian tombs was monumental.

"Greetings to you as well, Mr Potter, may your foes cower before your blade, and may our gold multiply evermore. Shall we continue to a more private venue?" The goblin said, eyeing the clamouring and increasing crowds outside the private lounge in displeasure.

Harold had previously done the goblins a great service, and had earned the honour to be addressed as kin due to his (in the eyes of goblins), glorious and honourable deeds.

"Yes, yes of course, after you Honoured Banker," Harold inclined his head and followed after the richly dressed goblin, the guards following them closely behind, shaking their weapons threateningly at passers-by if they got too close.

'No doubt rumours of my surfacing again will spread quickly enough. There's roughly 14 spies with multiple loyalties meandering about here, not as sneaky as they seem to think they are,' Harold thought with an amused chuff. Passive Legillimancy was such a useful thing, probably the only thing he respected about the 'goat of the greater good', his bleating about trust and sharing, when he himself hoarded information like a good goblin does gold was so hypocritical it caused Harold endless humour to this day.

The pair entered the office of the elder goblin as the two guards remained posted outside, silent in their vigil, and as solid and serious as the stone carved sentries carved into the rafters of the bank.

Harold took a seat when offered and accepted the fine goblin brewed rum mist **(*)** with a fierce grin as Silverfist poured his own over fresh crushed ice like the dark haired man's own.

"What good business do you bring today, Mr Potter? Your own investments have seen quarterly in profit which as per your request has been funnelled into other… lucrative and profitable investments. So for what other purpose may this visit be?"

"I have been ignoring the last gifts of my true family until now, out of grief, and thusly would like to rectify such a misdeed. I would, by rights of blood and magic, claim headship, properties, artefacts and capitol of both the Black and Peverell families, and henceforth be known as Harold Ignotus Black. Too much attention would be drawn from carrying the name Peverell for now, however a middle name holds no such bearing. At a later date I will carry the name permanently, but I have business that needs attending to without the extra attention such an esoteric name would muster."

He returned his forest eyes to the teller, who was staring at him in a rather stupefied fashion, before he swiftly pulled himself together again, clearing his throat to mask his embarrassment.

"Of course, Mr Black, if you would wait just a moment," Silverfist raised a gnarled hand onto the orb next to his desk and muttered a few short sentences in gobbledygook before pulling a sheaf of dark parchment paper from his desk drawer and a finely crafted silver knife, "if you would Mr Black?"

Harold smiled grimly, dragging the knife across his hand, letting dark, almost black blood spray over the parchment paper before the wound sizzled shut. Silverfist watched with an air of respect, no being worthy of any respect would quail from spilling blood.

Both occupants of the office watched as the black blood spread and skittered across the paper like macabre and particularly gruesome, bloody spider legs.

 **Harold Ignotus Black –Peverell (Formerly Harold James Potter)**

 **Age: 37**

 **Houses by right of blood:**

 _ **Lord of Most Ancient and Honoured House Black.**_

 _ **Title, Archduke, Blackest of Black.**_

 _ **Lord of Greatly Archaic and Most Esoteric House Peverell.**_

 _ **Title, Jarl, Archduke, Piper of Peverell, Masters of Death.**_

 _ **Heir of Most Ancient and Noble House Potter (formerly Gryffindor).**_

 _ **Heir of Most Ancient and Venerable House Slytherin.**_

 **Houses by right of conquest:**

 _ **Most Ancient House of Lestrange.**_

 _ **Most Ancient House of Gaunt.**_

 _ **House Malfoy.**_

 **Abilities and Ailments:**

 _ **Animagus- Heka Naja Haje**_

 _ **Occlumens**_

 _ **Legillimens**_

 _ **Parseltongue**_

 _ **Sage (Foci-less casting)**_

 _ **Magical Resistance**_

 _ **Intangibility**_

 _ **Invisibility**_

 _ **Incomplete resurrection**_

 _ **Immortal**_

 _ **King of serpents (Basilisk Venom infusion)**_

 _ **Healing (Phoenix tear infusion, Animagus)**_

 _ **Purification (Phoenix tear infusion)**_

 _ **Pyromancy (Phoenix tear infusion)**_

 **Holdings:**

 **Personal Vault:**

 _ **39,247,962G 3S 12K**_

 _ **Assorted Stocks**_

 _ **Assorted Treasures**_

 _ **Assorted Books**_

 **House Black-**

 _ **167,784,596G 16S 5K**_

 _ **Assorted Gems and ingots, unknown price**_

 _ **Heirloom Vault**_

 _ **Assorted Stocks and Investments**_

 _ **Slug and Jiggers Apothecary**_

 **House Peverell-**

 _ **Unknown Vast Currency**_

 _ **Assorted Gems, Ingots and idols, unknown price**_

 _ **Heirlooms uncounted inside vault**_

 **House Potter-**

 _ **100,000G trust vault**_

 **House Lestrange-**

 _ **3,673,452G 3S 24K**_

 _ **Assorted Gems and Ingots, unknown price**_

 _ **Heirloom Vault.**_

 **House Gaunt-**

 _ **11G 3S 19K**_

 _ **Few Heirlooms**_

 **House Malfoy-**

 _ **600,000G 3S 9K**_

 _ **Assorted Gems and ingots**_

 _ **Heirloom Vault**_

 _ **Acromantula Pasture,**_

 _ **Collection of Stocks.**_

 **Properties:**

 **House Black-**

 _ **12 Grimmauld Place, London, England**_

 _ **Black Manor, Wiltshire, England (dilapidated)**_

 _ **Black Holiday Island, Caribbean**_

 **House Peverell-**

 _ **Peverell castle, Silverlake, Unknown**_

 **House Lestrange-**

 _ **Lestrange Manor, Yorkshire, England**_

 _ **Lestrange Holiday Cottage, France**_

 **House Gaunt-**

 _ **Shack (dilapidated)**_

Harold leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin thoughtfully as Silverfist called in a Goblin runner, which happened to be his nephew, who he had spoken about on occasion.

"Well, first things first, I am renouncing and disowning myself from House Potter," Silverfist nodded, knowing of his customers past, and filling out the required papers as his young nephew Silvertooth brought the required rings. He was proud of the young warrior, but was halted from further reflection when his favoured customer lifted a hand for his nephew to stay.

"Secondly, I would like to absorb all holdings except Malfoy into House Black and Peverell, and relinquish any hold on House Malfoy, I'll let the worm keep his house," Silverfist nodded, curious as to where this was going, "I would like you to add my own accounts into House Black's, then I would make the Clan Silver Managers and Guardians of the fortunes of both House Peverell and Black, with your Nephew here as Junior Account Manager, and you as Senior."

Both goblins were excited, Silvertooth bowing and fisting his heart hastily as Silverfist did the same, but with more dignity.

"It is an Honour, my Lord, we gratefully accept," Silverfist said, pushing the boxes on his desk forward to his new Gold Lord, "your house rings."

Harold, opened the boxes, placing the onyx black and gold raven ring for house black on his index finger, and the silverfish, shimmering, blue gemmed Peverell ring on his third, next to the Black ring, both rings flashed, resizing, before the other rings in the boxes apart from House Malfoy and Potter dissolved and the remains soaked into his two rings. The Peverell ring pulsed, before shimmering, hiding itself from all but whom he wished. He smiled thinly, before turning to Silverfist once more.

"Now, onto business…"

* * *

Harold exited Silverfist's office with a satisfied smile upon his face, Silvertooth escorting him with a puffed chest, which now held a gilded golden, bejewelled badge with his houses symbols engraved upon in a way which only goblins understood.

It was no wonder the young goblin was so proud. In mere moments he had probably become one of the most important Goblins within Gringotts. Personal Account managers enjoyed a higher luxury then normal, due to being in charge of fortunes that required individual care. An account manager with a vault numbering between 500,000G to 5,000,000G in holdings would have a bronzed badge, which was were most well off Houses were situated in the bank hierarchy. A silver gilded badge requires holdings between 5,000,000G and 100,000,000G which is usually managed by a Junior account manager, and is where most wealthy families are. A golden badge requires a fortune numbering between 100,000,000g and 500,000,000g, of where House Black, among the wealthiest of wizards sit. These require a Senior account manager, and make up less than 1% of the bank clientele, and is a very coveted position. A Jewelled gold badge requires a fortune above 500,000,000G and requires both a Junior and Senior account manager, as well as Clan care. The Peverell account had been accumulating wealth for centuries, as their roots predated most customers and inhabitants of Britain, and had been confirmed by Harold, on perusal of Bank Papers and tomes from the Peverell Vault, to have been consorting with goblins as guardians of their wealth from a time where they worked as court magicians, courtesans, entertainers and lovers of ancient Egyptian Pharaohs, hence the name 'Peverell' which means singer adapted from French and Latin, where before the Peverell family were known as the 'Fertile Singers'. Harold was astounded that his heritage stretched back to 10,000bce when there were merely nomadic tribes in Egypt, and could be traced back to ancient Mesopotamia as well.

He found it very ironic that his ancestors were lovers of Pharaohs, and now he shared the same fate.

Once reaching the main hall of Gringotts, where many people were clamouring to see 'The-Man-Who-Conquered', emphasis on their silly capitalization and hyphens. Once again the Goblin guards frightened away the most persistent fans with their fearsome visages and wicked looking armaments as he faked a charming, poised smile at the crowds. Upon reaching the exit of the bank, Harold was surprised to see the amount of people outside the bank waiting, having been kicked out for wasting precious goblin time. The black haired man waved before seeking out Blaise to keep the herd away. He had an appointment at the tailors to attend to.

* * *

Ahmanet paused in her perusal of the fabrics her increased number thralls had brought her, feeling frustration through the bond of her chosen. Curiously, she skimmed through his recent memories and smiled in satisfaction, her painted lips stretching across her newly restored skin. He was a descendant of the favoured, exalted lovers and guardians of her prestigious and royal line. Another sign he was made for her and her only. This also meant he was very fertile, another symbol of his masculinity and right to rule beside her. (*)

She ran her hands once more down her body, luxuriating in the softness and lusciousness of her restored skin. The care of skin, hair and nails was much easier in this time, she had found, using money her thralls had collected she had sent them to procure for her some clothes and body care products. Luckily she had consumed the life force of a hidden magic user, enabling a full recovery of her body, from there it was easy to send out her agents to create more… human thralls to send to bring her things without raising suspicion. She now stood in the home of one of her thralls, one without a family (which was a shame, she could always use new servants), perusing some gowns and sheer dresses they had brought her. She had to look good for her chosen one after all.

In the meantime she had sent a few inconspicuous thralls to find her gem. She had been incredibly frustrated when she found out roughly where it was, and more importantly, who was around it. That insufferable little blond bitch and her ilk were sniffing around what seemed to be a tomb. Fortunately, they had not gained access, as the area they were excavating at the moment was sunken, and required some kind of metal creature defined as a pump to remove copious amounts of debris filled water. In short, they were close, but searching the area just slightly off where she could sense her gem.

Holding up a dark, black dress to her figure, she measured it against her shapely hips, before sliding it on. Most of her chest was bared, her handful breasts encased in two strips of barely see-through fabric, which went underneath a larger band of fabric that fit snuggly against her waist, which gave way to fabric that flowed as silk tends to, all the way down to her sandal clad feet, two long slits reaching from the bottom of the garment all the way to the top of her hips, allowing flashes of creamy, pale skin when she walked, also showing she lacked the silly garments modern women used to cover their lower garden. She liked the way the dress looked on her, it was elegant and seductive, now apart from her pale flesh, and she was ready to gift her chosen with her body.

Ahmanet sent her need through the bond, with images of her, and the corners of her plump lips twisted when she felt the arousal and equalling need by her chosen. She was tired of waiting for him to come to her, she wanted him now, and she could use his expertise to regain her gem. She sent her impatience through the bond, and received a placating comfort in return, along with a vague feeling of soon.

She was not used to waiting.

The ancient Pharaoh sighed, reclining upon the long seat of the living room. A knock sounded upon the door, and she sent the thrall that owned the house to the door with vague instructions to send the interloper off. She whined with impatience, spinning to lie on her stomach and letting out small growl into a cushion. Feeling frustration. She once again projected her feelings through the bond, freezing when pain erupted from different points over her body, before her body was bound and slammed into the floor, metal plated boots stomping around her squinted vision as she shook from the pain. Gunshots sounded throughout the house, and dull thumps sounding the demise of her thralls rung out. Well-polished, leather shoes came to a stop right before her face.

"Well, well, well… it seems we've caught our wayward princess…" A low waspish voice spoke, the voice honeyed to hide its true venom.

The dark haired woman looked upwards with strained eyes to see a portly man, with circle rimmed spectacles, well-groomed hair with slight, slivery stubble, and a ridiculous dark suit which (in her opinion) only served to highlight his ungainly pot belly.

"Now… where is your prince?" The man chuckled, before something slid into her neck, and her last thought was pain.

* * *

Harold was currently in hell. Or at least, what he believed it to be. Looking rather spiffy in his newly tailored robes, he consorted with the bigwigs at the Ministry's quarter annual ball. As loathe as he was to admit it, it was necessary to play the game of politics as the newly inaugurated Lord Black. So here he was, when he would rather be anywhere else, cementing alliances between like-minded and good acquaintances, generally on the darker grey spectrum of politics with a few lighter for good measure, and solidifying his political standing and supposed acumen as the new Lord Black.

It had been two weeks since he had taken up his mantle, sorting his new assets and researching his new houses had taken a great deal of time, and now it was of the highest priority to establish a firm base of operations and ties to his political peers to slowly bring his visions into reality. Unfortunately, a hard hand was not looked well upon at the moment, so for now he had to use a lighter touch to get what he wanted.

Padma had acquiesced to accompanying him tonight after taking her few pounds of flesh from his hide after his dismal attempts to keep in contact over the years, and after her job of keeping his arm warm after entering and the first dance, she had now moved in to talk to old friends and colleagues, achieving her own goals on top of broadcasting that they were not a couple, after splitting when they were no longer required to be arm and arm. This also served for a particularly annoying faction of lords and ladies to pour from the woodwork like roaches, swarming for his favour and offering their hands.

He had the bulk of his work done, and was now just hanging around to not seem rude, but that did not make his frustration at the sheep like masses to be abated, nor did it help that the Potters were making cow faces at him from across the hall. They unable to approach the new Lord lest they seem rude or overeager by their peers. No, he would have to approach them first if they wanted to talk to him, and he had no delusions that would happen anytime soon.

He had to hide the small flush of blood rushing to his cheeks by taking a sip of his wine as he felt _her_ need rush through him, and his trappings felt just a bit tight and warm as he stiffened slightly in response to the visions he had received. He held himself from groaning aloud in a very undignified fashion, smiling at some random woman in response to whatever words she had spewed.

The feeling returned not five minutes later, a frustrated edge to them, and he sent a general feeling of patience and soon. Not 10 minutes later and the feelings returned again, frustration and impatient and need all at once. She was not the type to be kept waiting it seemed. He chuckled.

His face froze at the pain and fear that engulfed him all of a sudden, his glass cracking in his hand before it was crushed. His pupils blown wide, the air about him vibrating slightly. The noise in the ballroom quieted to the point where you could hear a pin drop as the last few minutes from the eyes of the Egyptian seductress flew through his mind.

The shattered glass dropped to the floor, sounding like musical rain, as he swiftly moved towards the exit of the ballroom, stopping to give the minister a handshake and a smile about urgent business, the weight of his magic throwing the doors open as he marched to the apparition point, disappearing with a large, malevolent crack.

* * *

The dark haired Master of Death appeared with a thunderclap inside an innocuous house in the suburbs of East London, his gemstone eyes flashing, taking in every detail of the living room with the calculation and quick deducing eye of a former Auror and accomplished Tomb explorer. There were fine clothes dashed about the ground, covered in the powdered remains of undead muggles, and thick, muddy boot tracks, which covered most of the floor.

He moved about swiftly, there were no signs of forced entry at the front door, except some more powdered remains, showing the unfortunate fate of the door answerer. He moved back into the living room, leaning down over the couch, resting his weight on one knee, dragging his finger across small holes pierced into the fabric. Pulling his fingers away, a minute amount of dark, slightly coagulated blood was measured between his fingers. They didn't hide evidence of harm as well as whoever invaded this house thought they did. To a normal eye, the room may only look mildly undisturbed and a bit messy, but to him, this was sloppy.

He growled darkly under his breath, wrenching the bond within his mind and soul open with the ferocity of a rampaging titan, and pulling everything he needed to know out. He apparated back to his apartment, forgetting in his anger to close the bond back up to its normal state.

He flung open his dresser, pulling out his basilisk hide battle suit, looking inconpicuos but expensive to any muggle, but decidedly aggressive and defensive to any poroperly knowlegable wizard or witch. Thanks to Gringotts, he now knew the Hallows had not disappeared mysteriously, but had become a part of him, and he now held their abilities.

His scalera blackened without his own knowledge, and the specter chuckled menacingly.

He had someone to kill.

* * *

Ahmanet's back arched and she screamed silently, the bond being ripped open mercilessly by her chosen one's thrist for vengeance. A part of her revelled in dark satisfaction, but another was in pain, the bond was not meant to be opened so one-sidedly, and the backlash sent memories and feelings spiralling into her that she couldn't control, she couldn't keep up with the influx and it was causing her pain.

"What's happening?" The blonde whore asked, slightly panicked.

"I don't quite know, the mercury shouldn't be causing this much pain…" Her captor said, eyeing her with a thirst for knowledge that was not unlike a fascination for studying an insect.

"He's coming… My king is coming for me, and he will kill you all," She ground out, her voice shaky and raw, but the violence implied was anything but weak.

The portly man smiled, his eyes as cold as the mercury pumping into her. He was so self assured, so arrogant in his safety to assume he would be safe, her chosen would show him otherwise. In addition to his proper place, six feet underground, rotting. She sneered at him baring all her teeth.

"Excellent."

* * *

The Blackest of Blacks appeared in a swirl of dark fire in front of the dark doorstep of the Natural History Museum, the sky dark and streets empty apart from a few passed out homeless and blind drunks. His appearance would be written off as an alcohol induced stupor, he supposed, but he didn't care right now.

He walked up the steps of the museum with aggressive purpose, the door opening and closing behind him with nary a thought, the following spectre cackling in glee behind him at the promise of death.

Harold walked futher into the bowels of the museum passing a mammoth exhibit, and finding a door that would lead him to where he desired.

The walk down the hallways underneath the large building was silent, punctuated only by the sound of light footsteps if you listened hard. He would possibly be written off as a ghost, invisibility was such a useful trait after all.

Finally, he was there, a huge doorway infront of him guarded by two grunts stood between him and his queen, his Ahmanet.

The two grunts crumpled, and the doors blew open, and everyone in the room turned to stare at the empty doorway, confused. All pairs eyes were bemused but one, hers.

" _ **Se'tepai…"**_ His body practically vibrated in pleasure as he revealed himself, staring into her eyes. In mere moments, guns were pointed at him, and a slow clapping resounded about the wide hall.

"Mr Potter, I presume!" A fat, muggle man moved towards him, smiling in a slimy way that casued his insides to bristle in displeasure, especially when the twat covered his view of Ahmanet.

"Ah, a filthy fucking muggle I presume!" Harold said cheerfully before snapping his fingers, and all bullets fell out from the guns around him and in mere moments his had was around the throat of the man that had taken her from him.

"How interesting!" The apoplectic man said with a sinister cheer, "I haven't seen the _duplex faciem tuam_ curse done so well before! Let me guess, you're called Dr Jekyll or something equally deluded or muggle after the legend right? Do you think you're smart, hmm?"

The man was chocking, slapping on his hand as his face turned an ashen colour, his strength slowly increasing. Distantly, he could hear Jenny screaming for him to stop, and a strong hand landed on his shoulder. Its owner found himself blasted back with such force his bones snapped upon impact, passing out after experiencing a single second of agony that seemed to stretch hours.

"So, a transformation eh? Bet you love having that extra strength sometimes, how about I liberate you of it? It's no fun when muggles enjoy having curses, such a waste you know?" Harold laughed before an intangible hand reached into the man's body, ripping the curse from his soul with such force it damaged his actual body, causing the smarmy man to cough blood as Harold dropped him.

"Now, we are going to play a game," the Black lord said, summoning a gun to his hand and waving it around menacingly, "now, for every second that mercury remains on, I'm going to shoot someone, starting from now!"

"Wait, wha-" a loud bang sounded, as the person stupid enough to second guess his intentions slumped to the ground, blood pouring from his forhead.

"One,"

Pete scrambled to switch off the mercury, his hads shaking as he typed in the access code and typing in the subsequent sequences to disable the mercury, flinching as 7 more shots rang out behind him, along with cheerful counting.

"It's off! It's off!" Pete shouted, relief flooding him, he hadn't ever typed so fast in his entire life.

"Good."

Then Pete died.

R.I.P Pete.

' _As in Rest in Pieces, you stupid sunnovabitch_ ,' Harold thought.

"Are you crazy!" Jenny shouted hysterically.

"No, I'm Harold. My Godfather was Sirius, so he couldn't be crazy either."

"What?"

"Shut the _fuck_ up Jenny."

* * *

Ahmanet was in so much pain she could hardly think, the bond was fine, but the mercury was not… but she could feel him, he was close, so close. Her head shot up and stared at the door, and everyone around her paused at her sharp motion, the portly man and blonde slattern looking at her curiously.

"He is here…" Two dull thumps seemed to echo endlessly through the dark hall, and the doors flew open. No one was there, but she knew he was there, she could almost see him, she could smell him, and she could almost taste him.

"My Chosen…"

And then he revealed himself, in all his dark glory, and she hardly registered what he said and what he did, so consumed in the vision of him swathed in dark snakeskin that clung so tightly to his body, his warrior stature, her warror's body. The cursed liquid silver ceased to encroach within her body, and she vomited it all out, burning her throat upon its exit. A large, firm hand rubbed her back as she continued to expel the foreign substance, she shackles falling away from her body. Ahmanet coughed and gagged, leaving nought but the taste of the vile substance upon her pale tongue. She heaved dryly, her arms coming up to ensconce her chosen as he comforted her and she almost wept, but that would be for later, no one but her chosen would see her tears.

"Ahmanet…" She shivered at the low husk of his tone, lifting her split amber gaze to his, "I am so sorry. I was so caught in preparations I didn't think, I-" She lifted a pale finger to his lips, silencing him, before thrusting her lips upon to his, her clawed fingers clutching him with enough force to break the bones of a lesser man.

She removed herself from him, staring into his lidded eyes and conveying her forgiveness, he couldn't have expected what would happen, and that was fine. He was here now. He was her for her and he was hers.

A loud crack echoed out and Harold jerked in her arms, blackish blood leaking from his chest, and he slumped.

Her hands shook as he fell from her arms, and she turned in anger, spotting the fat man from earlier holding a smoking metal device.

She felt empty. Once again, everything had been taken. Once again she had failed. All she could feel was the body in her arms cooling.

She snarled, " _ **CURSED ONE!"**_

* * *

 _ **And scene. Sorry if it's a bit lower quality than usual, I tried to tone down the inrospectivity a bit to speed up this part of the storyline, I really don't want to keep the movie plot going for long, and I really needed them out of the way soon because otherwise they would keep appearing like clichéd cartoon villains and getting defeated only to return again, or just lurking in the background being annoying.**_

 _ **Let me know what you think.**_

 _ **1(*) A mist is a way of serving spirits.**_

 _ **2(*) In ancient Egypt, fertility was one of the most desired traits, so much so that if a woman got pregnant before marriage, her family would celebrate. Interestingly enough, premarital sex was not seen as sinful, you were free to have many sexual partners, but not when married.**_

 _ **All mistakes are mine, I don't own Hp or the Mummy franchise, though I wish I did, plots mine, yadda yadda, blah blah.**_

 _ **See you next time**_

 _ **Kitsune.**_


End file.
